


The Course of True Love

by meggles830



Series: Letters [1]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: AU, F/M, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Love Letters, Romance, Season 3, Sexy Times
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-15 08:44:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4600290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meggles830/pseuds/meggles830
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The course of true love never did run smooth." But that doesn't mean it wasn't worth the journey. Of course things between Jack and Phryne could never just happen, easily-- there are too many demons in each of their pasts, too many issues to reconcile for a future. But my money is on them taking it the distance, and luckily, in this universe at least, I get to write it the way I see them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Love Letters

Jack,  
I’m afraid I’ve never been much of a letter writer or journal keeper—I’m sure you wouldn’t be shocked at hearing my confession that I generally find it tedious. It just tends to be difficult to get the thoughts out of my head and onto paper before the next one enters and I’m distracted trying to chase it down. However, this time, knowing that its likely my only real connection to you for the time being, I find that I’m more willing to give it a try and write a bit each day; something that I can send you to read and maybe it will be a bit like we’re sharing this experience together—which, I must admit would be infinitely preferable to the current man I’m traveling with.

First he finds it too cold up in the air and is uncomfortable, but then we landed in Bangkok and its hot and humid and has a strange smell. I’m almost certain he’s said no more than a dozen words in the last eight days of travel that weren’t mean or whining or selfish.

I have been trying to remind myself that I’m not doing this so much for him, but for my mother. I am certainly not doing this for him, nor am I doing it for myself. Were I traveling for my own benefit, my passenger would not be such a cantankerous old drunk that I so luckily get to call “Father.” Rather, I believe the companion would be a certain police detective of my acquaintance. I can almost picture a certain head of brown locks with glints of a tawny-copper peeking through and warm, if constantly exasperated eyes occasionally looking back to check on me and smile… or beg me to slow down.

But unfortunately for me, I only get to see that at night when we are tucked away in bed at some small, provincial inn and can try to get a few hours of sleep before rising the next morning and I find myself, almost inexplicably, flying further away from you.

Please be careful in my absence to not solve too many murders without me.  
Wistfully, Your Phryne

My Dear Miss Fisher  
I’m writing this letter to you while I’m still at the station—you can imagine how quiet it is here without your inimitable presence in South City—and with the new Mrs. Collins away on her honeymoon, I find many of us having to adjust to a decided lack of scones, biscuits and other baked goods. I believe by the time you return to us, I will have lost a half stone.

I suppose your absence might be less noticeable if work were a bit busier, but somehow it feels that everyone, including Melbourne’s criminal element, have all chosen to take a holiday. I did have to break up a fight outside of a tavern when West Melbourne FC lost its match, that was being broadcast live on the wireless. There were a few drunks in cells overnight and the owner of the bar had his radio smashed and destroyed by angry fans who felt it was the machine’s fault, apparently. I sustained a few minor cuts and bruises myself, but in a fascinating turn of events, as the boar, who was insisting I had been having inappropriate relations with a mother (whether my mother, his mother or merely all mothers in general, it was very unclear) was able to break a stool over my head, who should step in and lay him out flat? One of your enigmatic red raggers, Bert! I must say I feel a fraction of a bit better knowing a man with such a solid right hook is frequently with you on your most ill-advised ventures.

Speaking of ill-advised adventures that make me worry, please promise me you being the epitome of cautious in your travels. Please, I beg of you, do not take any unnecessary risks—do not, in fact, do anything that would make me yell, “Miss Fisher!” in way but endearment or adoration. I would be miserable to think that kiss in the airfield was our last—I’m afraid kissing you was something I could easily become addicted to and would very much like to repeat the experience as soon as possible.

Because, you know that I am your’s  
Jack

Dear Jack  
I was so happy to receive your letter when I was in Delhi, you were so clever to send it directly to the airfield so I wouldn’t miss it—it seems your acquaintances in the Air Force may be of far greater use any of mine—not that I’m planning to contact any of my old friends for quite some time. I rather think I’m over my former interest in a man wearing a uniform, lately I find myself rather preferring a tall, lean man in a well-cut 3 piece suit and a rakishly positioned fedora, but only so long as there is a familiar face under that hat.

As for you lack of scones and other baked food stuffs, please assure me that you’re eating better than you usually do when I’m not around to feed you. Really, you know I’m not above ordering Mr. B to temporarily relocate to your residence until your larder is full to the brim and you are stuffed to the gill.

Speaking of my household, please thank Bert for me for stepping in on your behalf in an apparently intense situation. As I doubt Bert has ever met your mother, or has any information regarding your general feelings or actions towards mothers, I can only conclude he either felt the need to defend a fellow Westie or he was merely trying to prevent me from having to live with a large scar on your forehead from a splintered stool—for which I’m very grateful. I do really like your face as it is today—have I ever told you how much I like a man with a strong jaw and high cheekbones, like yours? You really are an exceptionally handsome man. I believe, if you wanted, I could ask about with the Madames Fleuri, inquiring if they have a need for any menswear models. I hear these new boxer shorts with elastic waistbands are exceptionally comfortable as undergarments for the modern male. I, of course, would be happy to help you try some on and give you a lady’s perspective.

I’m going to ignore your comments about my flying because I know you’re trying to bait me—you know quite well that I’m an excellent aviatrix and it would be silly of you to worry. No, I fear your greater fear should be that I may try to arrange for my father to “accidentally” fall from his seat if he complains one more time—or worse, if he tries to sell me on his next completely mad “investment” scheme that will make me into a very rich woman. I already am a very rich woman and I’d sooner give it all to a pack of wild dogs than any of the less than upstanding gents of my father’s acquaintance.

I believe our journey is about ½ over. I did hear that someone recently made the flight from London to Sydney in 10 days—how is that possible? If I could do that in my plane, I’d be there in London already—making it that much closer to when I get back to Melbourne and you. With any luck and fair skies, I believe I could manage to be home playing chess or backgammon (or perhaps not playing any board games at all) within the month.

Adoringly,  
Phryne

 

Dearest Miss Fisher,  
You seem to be making excellent time and I’m glad to hear the weather has been so fair, although I fear it may not continue to be so. I’m hearing rumblings about a significant storm season and while I’m not anxious to delay your return by even one hour. But I’m afraid I’ve become a bit too keen to check weather reports from Rome to Cairo to Delhi to Singapore. Heaven help any of my constables who even conjecture whether we will have rain this week. I’m sure that seems very foolish to you, but I’m not sure how much sleep I’ll get over the upcoming weeks—I really will feel much better once you are safely back on the ground and in my arms.

The new Mr. and Mrs. Collins have returned from their honeymoon—it was very nice of you to arrange for the use of your Aunt’s lake house. Hugh seems to be a happily married man and has taken to dispensing advice to others in the station. His recommendations vary from “find a wife who can cook—that’s the key to happiness” to “I must be home promptly at six—Dottie is cross if the food is cold when I get home, and you should always work to give your wife the small courtesies.” He has also begun to expostulate on the superiority of the matrimonial state, urging all of his mates to join him in this most wonderful of institution. There is apparently “no other way of living that can compare” he will loudly proclaim with evangelical zeal. It would truly be insufferable if he and Mrs. Collins weren’t so obviously happy. But thus far, it is all I can do to NOT remind him that there are a few of us with considerably different experiences in their past.

I find that, at this moment, I am quite content to imagine bliss as being a quiet evening at home with whiskey, a roaring fire and a particularly good book. Or, even more preferable would be your company, but in that scenario, I envision considerably fewer books being involved (I’d even be willing to compromise champagne instead of whiskey, if you preferred).

Ever yours,  
Jack

PS Do NOT kill your father  
PPS I’d prefer we not discuss my undergarments via airmail

Jack  
How can it be that I have been gone for a month? Was it only four weeks ago that Dot walked down the aisle in her stunning wedding gown, with the single most angelic face I’ve ever seen in that church. (Really, she could have been the original model for Titian or Reubens cherubic faces). She was so radiant that day in the church—steady and confident as she walked down that aisle to her groom, it was enough to make even the most cynical about love and marriage reconsider—almost.

Has it only been four week since our goodbye? I must admit that the memory is on my mind more and more of late. And it was not just for that kiss—although that was particularly memorable and the moment I start thinking of it I find myself somewhat distracted and less able to concentrate…

Apologies, I’m back now and focusing on you.

I had thought of stopping for a few days in Paris to see some friends and do a bit of shopping, but I worry Paris will be so full of happy and content lovers, strolling about along the Seine and sneaking off into the Tuileries for some more discrete displays of affection. I do not normally find myself discontent in Paris, but I worry it would only make me miss you more than I currently do.

The other day I was thinking of traveling with you. I would love to share Paris with you, make new, much happier memories as we walk through the Latin Quarter, visit the Opera—although I promise it would only be to visit the architecture, I would never make you sit through a performance—unless Ruddigore were being shown anywhere. But where would you most like to go? I can think of so many places I have been, but I find myself wanting to share the experience with you, I want my memories of the Taj Mahal and of St. Mark’s Square and the Great Wall of China to include you.

However, it is difficult for me to think of giving up the shopping I could avail myself of in the city. Which leads me to ask, does the prohibition against discussing undergarments specific to your garments? I have to admit the greatest temptation to stop over, as they have the most remarkable skills in the design and manufacturing of women’s lingerie. No one can do so much with so little silk and lace as the French. Perhaps I have simply had too much time to think by myself over the last month, and I don’t want to be presumptuous, but I do believe a few new pieces may be put to excellent use upon my return to Melbourne. The allure of these beautiful foreign cities is just not the same without you being with me, holding my hand as we explore and enjoying getting to spend time alone, discovering.

Hungrily,  
Phryne

My Dear Miss Fisher,  
I am so pleased to hear that you completed the first half of your mission successfully and I hope that you were able to broker some sort of peace between your parents. I must admit that had you murdered your father along the way, your absence for this length of time would have felt utterly and completely pointless. At least this way I can see it as another example of your unfailing kindness to those you care about—even those who may not always deserve the faith and loyalty.

  
I think you will be pleased to know that I have been eating quite well since Mrs. Collins returned—no need to make Mr. Butler decamp from 221b in order to cater specifically to my needs. While I’m sure a good many visits to the City South station may be attributable to her fondness for her newly acquired husband, my investigative senses do have me a bit suspicious that a certain birdie, perhaps a dark-haired raven, suggested I receive a bit of extra attention in the baked goods department? I just don’t think she will ever actually convince me that Mr. Butler has been offering her cooking lessons and there is simply too much food left over—especially as the meals have all, by some mind-boggling coincidence—been a few of my absolute favorites: Shepherd’s Pie, Tarragon Roasted Chicken, Lamb Stew and a wide variety of gratins. While I thank you for your consideration, I would remind you that I am actually a fully-grown man who did somehow manage to fend for myself over a good number of years before Dot and Mr. Butler entered my life. Not to mention, we do have some restaurants and cafes in Melbourne.

  
While I am of course anxious to see you, if you feel a need to stop in Paris on your way back, I’d feel terrible if I were the one to discourage you from attending to any sartorial matters you may think necessary. If it is of any interest to you, I have always thought you looked particularly lovely in greens, purples and scarlet reds. Those colors against the creaminess of your shoulders and a few freckles that I’ve noticed trailing down your arm…  
Frustratedly yours,  
Jack

Phryne,  
Although I know I explicitly asked your Aunt to not trouble you or give you any distractions from your attention to your various tools and –ometers that keep you safely up in the air. But, as I know your Aunt somewhat at this point, I can only assume she completely disregarded my wishes and protestations on the matter.

I am not sure what she may have said in her telegram, but please know that Jane is fine. She had a minor accident, suffering from a broken arms and a mild concussion from a small fall at the Botanical Gardens. It seems that she was playing a rather high-stakes game of Truth or Dare with some friends from school, and as she is so much like you in most ways (I’m not entirely sure how much of a good thing that is, as it seems to be an ominous portend for me, as the Fisher women are so likely to make a gray-haired and wrinkled apoplectic man).

So of course, when playing the game and they dared her to walk the entire length of the Lily Bridge only on the thin railing—approximately 3 meters off the ground, she accepted the challenge. She of course found it to be a matter of pride and honor to do so. I suppose to her credit, she did make it all but a few steps away from completing the task before she was startled by a loud noise and fell to the ground. My greatest concern is that she seems to have wounded her pride most and I’m concerned it won’t be long before she tries again.

Do not worry about her Miss Fisher. Doctor MacMillan is on the case, Dot and Mr. Butler are spoiling her entirely and I believe she is well on her way to mending entirely. I myself have gone to see her every night after work to relieve Dot and your Aunt for an hour or so from nurse duty. We play chess mostly; we did play cards a few times but I’m fairly certain that she cheats—I don’t suppose you would have any idea where she learned to count cards, do you?

I have also seen to it that she is well-supplied with reading material. With her concussion, she originally had some trouble reading on her own, her vision was a bit blurry and left her head aching, so I was called on to read to her. I went in search of something gripping and I must say there were a great number of titles in your personal collection that seemed less than appropriate for young lady of 16 to read. For that matter, there were a few that may be inappropriate for a fully-grown police inspector of more than 35 years. I can only assume that many of them point to your long-harbored but apparently secret interest in the anthropologic studies of sub-continental and Far Eastern Asia? I’m not entirely sure how the writings of the Marquis de Sade could be defended to this country’s decency laws, but I believe I can overlook the material until you are able to walk me through some of the educational and artistic merits of your collection—I am, after all, an officer of the law and it would be my duty to report the works if they are not of sufficiently enriching qualities.

Jane sends her love and I have asked her to write to you as well so you can hear how well she is doing. It seems likely this will be the last letter to reach you before you are home again—we are sending this Express to Delhi or Rajat in hopes of reaching you sooner and easing any concerns I’m sure you will have until you can see us again and view her condition for yourself.

Impatiently yours,  
Jack

 

Phryne,

Please don’t be mad at me—Aunt P says you’re going to be furious, but I told her that was silly—you would understand that Angelica double-dared me and so I had to do it in order to shut her up. She is so absolutely awful and thinks she is so wonderful because her father is rich and they have three cars—but honestly, none of them are nearly as nice as the Hispano and while she’s preparing to Come Out with a big ball and fancy dresses from France (where she has never been either) she is still a cow and no money in the world or nice things will change how mean and dull she is.  
And I would have made it all the way across the railing of the bridge if not for the gunshot startling me so badly. Can you imagine? Murder at the Botanical Gardens in boring old Melbourne?  
Well, actually Jack was able to see pretty fast that it may be a suicide, so he’s been interviewing the family and friends—there was a note, something about losing a lot of money in the stock market in New York.

Kitty said that when the Inspector showed up on the scene of the shooting he saw Kitty, Angelica and Fanny wearing what looked like my school uniform. They were apparently shouting like complete ninnies, there was barely any blood from my fall, and anyone could have told them to only send one of the girls to find help for me while another one should have tried to secure the crime scene until the police did arrive. Instead they just broke down crying hysterically—what if it had been a murder and the killer got away because of their histrionics?

Kitty says that when he saw who had fallen, he went pale and looked panicked, but I told her that’s silly, the Inspector is not one who is likely to panic about anything, He is the bravest man I’ve ever seen and he never loses his head—remember when Foyle had us captured? But Kitty says in the gardens he rushed in and knelt down, asking what happened and Angelica was just crying because she thought that I was dead and she killed me. Apparently if I were dead, I’d come back to haunt her for the rest of her life—as though I’d waste my time as a ghost haunting her —because if I’m invisible and able to go anywhere it would be her place? Unlikely.

Anyways, so he was checking to make sure that I wasn’t dead and my neck was in place and if it was okay to move me. He told Angelica to shut up and make herself useful or to leave—and she did (shut up). Fanny said the whole thing was all very romantic and maybe he thinks I’m pretty, but I told him that he’s just very in love with my guardian and so he wanted to make sure I was fine. Finally Dr. Mac made him go look at the scene, but he saw pretty quickly that it was probably self-inflicted and he was able to direct the Constables in taking statements and everything pretty quickly.

Dr. Mac didn’t make me go to the hospital, she set my arm and gave me a few stitches at home. I was awake by then and she ordered everyone to help me stay away for at least 12 hours to make sure my head wasn’t too injured. Setting my arm hurt like hell, but I survived it and the laudanum she gave me afterwards was kind of lovely—although it made me feel so queer and I don’t think I would like to have to take it again.

Burt and Cec came by and played music for a while, but it made my head hurt too much with all the noise. Dot sat with me, but I felt lousy because it was Hugh’s night and day off and I know she wanted to be with him. Aunt P did her duty and was lecturing me on my reckless and wild behavior and then started to read to me from one of her horrible and sappy women’s magazines and I was desperate to get her to stop. Jack came in around that point and suggested she got some rest. I don’t know exactly what they said in the hallway but whatever he said, it worked because she left. He asked me how I was feeling and I told him, “I’m fine! Everyone is acting a little crazy—its just a bump on the head and my arm hurts. Dr. Mac said I can have some more laudanum in a few hours, but I need to stay awake until then.

“I would imagine everyone is acting crazy because you are actually very dear to a good number of people who worry—and maybe no one really wants Miss Fisher to find out we didn’t protect you like a china doll, with our very lives if needed.”

“Honestly—Phryne would understand.” He asked me what I wanted to do, but I was just so worried about my school exams—I do have an enormous amount of reading to do to get ready. He brought me my school bag, pretending to groan under its weight. I started trying to read my Euclid, but its hard enough to slog through when I’m at my best! I was disappointed and was definitely starting to panic, “but I’m never going to place in my exams and get into Oxford! I’m going to have to stay here and get married and pregnant to some idiot with an inheritance and I’ll never make Phryne proud or find a way to take care of my mum.”

He was thumbing through my books and found my texts on Ancient History, French and Shakespeare. Since reading hurt—what if he read TO me? We slogged through Ancient Mesopotamia and Babylon—did you know that the Babylonians were the first to have a written set of laws? The Code of Hammurabi—have you seen it? Its in the Louvre but I don’t remember it from my trip! I promise I spent two whole days at the museum, but I was so focused on the paintings and the sculpture and the building that I don’t remember it all!

We tried muddling through Le Petit Prince, but I was having trouble understanding it (and Jack’s accent is absolutely dreadful). So then we moved on to Shakespeare, and reading and talking about Othello. You know I don’t like Shakespeare very much—I would much prefer Dreiser or Fitzgerald, or even maybe Hemingway (although I agree with you that he is a jerk who clearly hates women). But I usually find Shakespeare lets his characters talk too much and it doesn’t always make sense—why can’t they just say what they mean?

Well, it turns out that Jack loves Shakespeare! He said that in the War, while he was stationed in France, he was depressed and having trouble; he missed home and his wife (did you know he was married before?) and he was cold and felt kind of desperate, but then he found a copy of Shakespeare’s Complete Works in an abandoned and shelled bookstore, and it was in English and it felt like a sign so he carried it with him everywhere he went until he came home, reading the same plays in English over and over again as a connection to home. I think that’s terribly romantic, don’t you?  
Well, I didn’t understand everything that he was saying as he read to me, but it really was the first time I understood so much! It turns out that if the person reading it understands what he was trying to say, it is much easier to follow. He has a wonderful voice and it was so amazing to have him read to me and stop and ask me questions to make sure I understood what happened. Honestly, the play of Othello is ripping—there is a woman, Emilia, and she is so funny, but he keeps getting a little sad sounding when he reads her parts and I think that’s because she is so much like you and he misses you so much! We talked a lot about how the only person in the show who seems to have any sense is the woman who says she would consider cheating on her husband if paid to do so—why should only men be allowed to—it’s so ironic in the story about love and jealousy and power! When he does some of the soliloquies (sometimes he’ll jump around to ones he really likes, just practice them, he says) it felt so much like he was a real actor on a stage, performing for me!

I was finally allowed to go to sleep, but he stayed all night anyways, on the sofa in the parlor so he could be there if I woke up and get me anything I needed. He also woke me up every few hours to make sure that I would wake up and didn’t fall into a coma. Mr. B and Dot and Mac were supposed to take turns with him but Mr. B was shooed off, Dot fell asleep trying and Dr. Mac was caught up at the hospital with a trolley accident so Jack did it without any complaining.

I miss you very much and I’m so happy that you will be home soon. It has been dreadfully boring around here without you in the house.

Love, Jane

Phryne,  
Please do not worry about Jane, she may not be your biological daughter, but I’m afraid/proud that she is more like you than is probably good for the world—Lord, there are two of you now!  
In case you missed the full story, your ward was playing a fairly stupid game at the Gardens and it would have been fairly innocent and safe if not for that G—Damn Bastard who decided to make his particularly gruesome last act take place in such a public places, so near a grouping of young girls.

Luckily, I had been called in on the suicide, as the Gardens are across from the hospital and I was actually with the Inspector at the time, going over notes on that last case we had with the counterfeiting ring a few months back. Frankly, its probably a good thing that Jack was there at the Gardens because it was he who recognized the uniforms the girls were wearing (I assume that has more to do with his powers of observation regarding the girl’s guardian and all things related to the woman than it does any interest in school uniforms). He heard the ridiculous girls screaming and crying and carrying on and Lord, I swear, I think he assumed someone among them had been hit by a stray bullet from the suicidal idiot. One girl was rocking back and forth and sobbing “I killed her, I killed her!” Honestly, I hope this is no indication of the quality of the school to which you are sending that girl!

I believe you know that despite my lack of maternal instinct, I am a bit fond of Jane—it is an excellent testament to your skills that she is so tolerable to be around and occasionally quite sweet. So I will admit to you (but I will deny vehemently should you ever tell) that my heart stopped for a moment in panic as I saw who’s face it was on the ground with red blood splatter on the pavement where she had hit her head.

When I arrived on the scene, I saw a pale inspector cradling Jane’s head as he carefully and thoroughly checked for spinal cord damage, using his battlefield training I suppose. He was checking for bullets too, but there wasn’t nearly enough blood on the ground for me to be worried about it. I got down to look her over as the largest of the girls was turning completely hysterical and I told him to make those girls shut up—either with bribery or threats of violence. Once that was accomplished, I told him that as I was the doctor and he the Inspector, perhaps he should allow me to do my job while he did his.

As soon as I could focus on Jane, I quickly saw that she had fallen from a bit of a distance, but there didn’t seem to be any truly critical damage. I was able to temporarily set her right arm where she had a simple fracture from when she tried to catch her fall. It’s common for that to happen, but luckily for her, the impact on her head was less than if she had fallen directly onto her head, rather than arm _then_ head. She has a concussion and I gave her 8 stitches, but there didn’t seem to be any internal bleeding and other than a headache and six weeks in a cast for her arm, she is absolutely fine—a bit bored, but fine. I imagine that being caged in the house for five days until I can be sure her head sustained no long-term damage will frustrate her to no end, but considering how thick _your_ skull is, if she’s anything like you, I’m not worried.

I have to admit that your Inspector has been growing on me. You know how little use for his gender I have, but I have generally found him to be a perfectly decent specimen. He has been very solicitous of Jane, helping her try and keep up with her studies. I walked in the other day as he was declaiming from Julius Ceaser (an excellent example of what happens when too many men are left in charge—idots, all of them!) I walked in on the Inspector in a toga and cape (I believe they were actually a sheet and a blanket pilfered from the laundry). Jane was on the sofa in rapt attention and Dot was quiet in the corner, not at all sure what was happening in front of her eyes. Well, I’ll be damned, but he may have treaded the boards at some time in his life; his Antony was marvelous! As he stirred up his Fellow Countrymen to mutiny… “Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up to such a flood of mutiny/they that have done these deeds are honorable…” I believe Dot and Jane would have risen to join the man against Brutus and Cassius in that moment.

Phryne, I’m not entirely sure where this is going between you two—you and the Inspector certainly have some kind of chemistry, but Phryne, please allow me to interject a word of caution—this man is not like your usual choice. I do not mean simply that he is cautious or reserved (and not at all stupid or soporific), but that he is a truly good man. He may be a bit traditional and stuffy for your tastes, but he is warm and brilliant and kind and seems to be willing to put up with quite a lot from you, which makes him almost saint-like in my book.

I have watched for a long time at how he genuinely respects you, not in spite of your individual quirks and ticks, but, I believe, because he honestly loves them as part of the package that is Phryne Fisher. If you are thinking of entering into any kind of… well, anything, with this man, _please_ know your mind before acting. I believe he is playing for keeps this time around and that makes me both admire and pity the man’s taste. I know that you have generally avoided any kind of actual romantic entanglement—I think you have a tendency to forget your effects on men. You are like a snow globe, you come in to shake them up and their lives turn upside down—but then you are gone and they’re trying to get the snow to settle back down. I’m sure most of them are able to let things settle and get on with their lives, but I do not believe your Inspector is one of those men and I would hate to see him hurt. Perhaps I'm getting soft in my old age, maybe I miss being in love myself... 

My last word on the subject (I know I was not invited to discuss, but I claim the privilege of your oldest friend) is this. I have known you for more than a few years now. For whatever my opinion is worth, he seems awfully willing to take you on. After all, I have always believed you need in a mate someone who is equal parts lover and sparring partner. He seems to be able to keep up with you, sometimes even when I can't.

Please return soon, your Scotch is much better than mine.

Mac

 

Dearest Jack

I have no way to know if this will reach you before I am home, but your letter (and Jane’s) meant the world to me. You were indeed correct, Aunt P sent me a most alarming telegram and I had to spend an extra day in Ranjpur to hear from Mac that all was fine.

I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you were there so thoroughly for Jane. Truth be told, even immediately upon receiving Aunt P’s note, I was distressed, but I also had a calming thought in the back of my mind, “Jack is there, it will be fine.” Is it possible that is why I care for you so deeply? Because you are so selfless and wonderful to anyone about whom I care, and that is an uncommon trait in the world today. I owe you a great deal for taking care of her for me, she seems well and happy. She has never enjoyed Literature courses at school, but now she is begging for season tickets to the Royal Company in Sydney!

It seems that you have captured the minds and hearts of both of us Fisher women. I do understand that we are not always the easiest of women, but I do sincerely, in my heart of hearts that we are worth it—but you will have to be the judge of that, I suppose.

  
I believe that if I try, I will be in Melbourne by Saturday afternoon. I had originally hoped to entice you to meet me somewhere in the West on a short holiday before returning to Melbourne, but I now feel more drawn than ever to return to 221b, to Mr. Butler and Dot and Jane and Mac. This trip has most certainly reminded me that my home is no longer in England, it ensconced in my home in St. Kilda with my ragtag family by choice.

  
Please do not read into this any hesitation on my part or lack of desire to see you, merely the long delayed understanding that sometimes you only wish to be surrounded by your most loved ones with a glass of your favorite whiskey. The man that just recently flew from London to Delhi without stopping sounds great, but to him right now, I would say “Bully for you, I’d rather be at home in my own bed!” That failing, the bed of one handsome Detective Inspector I know and adore and miss achingly.  
Gratefully and Impatiently,  
Phyrne

 


	2. Receive What Cheer You May

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Receive what cheer you may. The night is long that never finds the day." Macbeth
> 
> Phryne is flying back to Jack as quickly as possible... but apparently I just can't let the lovers be together quite yet. Jack and Mac spend 7 1/2 hours (and a full bottle of whiskey) on a train to meet her, and kill the time by having a particularly interesting and revealing conversations that distract them from the fear they're both feeling.

Two days-- there were only two more days until Phryne was back where she belonged-- in St. Kilda at 221b, in her parlor and (hopefully) in his arms. 53 full days she had been gone-- 22 days each way and as little time in England as was possible to get away with. Jack was unsure what she was planning to do on her first night back-- it seemed likely that she would want to bathe, sleep and spend some time with Jane and Dr. Macmillan, probably try to force some awkward tidbits from Dot about the honeymoon (poor woman, Dot, he could just imagine the kinds of questions Phryne was likely to ask her). He would allow her time to rest and be surrounded by her odd, but endearing, little family on her first night home, he had waited 53 days, he was fairly certain he could wait one more in order to get her full attention. 

For his part, he had made reservations over a week ago at the Windsor’s fine dining restaurant that housed a phenomenal 16 piece orchestra, a champagne bar and tall, dark and secluded booths. He had spent a great deal of time thinking about their last dance together, that waltz at The Grand. Not many people knew that Jack actually enjoyed dancing quite a bit-- most would probably be shocked to find out that not only did he know how to dance, he was actually more than competent on a dance floor. Dancing had been one of the few things that he and Rosie had genuinely enjoyed doing together, they had actually met at the Policemen’s Ball. That, in fact, was the way he knew so well how a good waltz could make one abandon all reason. 

Of course, his evening plans were going to cost plenty-- he could buy a new suit for pretty much the same money he was likely to spend that night; but he had enough suits. What he didn’t have was the woman he loved in his embrace, dancing with him, returning his kisses, responding to his touch… He was really going to have to try and avoid that line of thought for the next two days if he wanted to avoid being spotted by his junior Constables with a rather telling fullness in his trousers. As he entered the doors of the City South station, he had a bit more spring in his step than the other officers were used to lately. He found himself humming as he entered his office, putting his hat on the rack inside, stopping sharply at the sight of a woman in his chair behind the desk. 

“Dr. Macmillan, to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure-- animal, vegetable or mineral?” It wasn’t until then that he noticed she had a rather sober expression on her unusually drawn face. 

“Jack-- it’s Phryne. There’s been an accident.”

Jack would never forget that moment; it felt like he was trapped in the middle of a typhoon-- there was a roaring sound in his ears and his stomach dropped right to the other side of the world. There were thoughts running through his mind, just snippets of memories of her: the sound of her laugh, the smell of her French perfume, arch of her eyebrows when she was trying to be particularly provocative or teasing (which was often). It took him at least 30 seconds to realize he was holding his breath and that his eyes were closed, as he stood there in the middle of his office, looking like an idiot. 

“Jack, are you--?” Mac stood to assist him to a chair, a bit afraid that he was going to keel right over in that exact moment. He waved her away but found a chair on his own and felt himself sink into it. She moved quickly to find the bottle of whiskey he kept in his bottom drawer (to “help get suspects/informants talking” of course). She poured a dram quickly and handed it to him before deftly grabbing his wrist to check his pulse-- he clearly had to have a healthy heart to put up with everything Phryne had put him through over the last two years, but every man had their limit. Satisfied he was not going to actually to drop dead of a heart attack in front of her she moved to pour herself a glass of the whiskey and down it like a shot. 

“What happened? Is she…?” his voice broke on the second question, he couldn’t quite get it out. 

“She is not dead. But it doesn’t necessarily sound good either. I don’t have a lot of details, her solicitor only called me a few minutes ago and I called to leave a message with the hospital in Adelaide where she was taken, asking a doctor to please call me here at the station, and I ran over to tell you.” Funny, she thought, that it hadn’t even occurred to her to go first to Mrs. Stanley or even to Dot and Jane-- it seemed completely natural that she run to tell Jack first, it seemed almost strange to her that SHE was listed with Phryne’s solicitor as “Contact in Emergency”, she had to stop and remember Jack was not actually Phryne’s next of kin. 

“What I do know is that at approximately 12:33 this afternoon, there was a call placed to the ambulance brigade nearest the Adelaide Municipal Airfield to respond to a single plane crash. There was some sort of mechanical failure immediately following takeoff and she was found in a state of semi-consciousness in the backyard of a small family who live next to the field. She was taken to St. Luke’s Hospital with suspicions of internal injuries that will need to be assessed during an exploratory surgery.”

“Elizabeth?” He just looked up at her, pleadingly; she could see how scared he was because it was perfectly mirrored in her own face. She took in a breath, holding it for a moment while she thought, then “Jack, she’s alive. She is pretty banged up from the sounds of it-- I’ve tended to a few plane crash victims and it’s never clear cut how it will turn out. But, she’s also Phryne Fisher and I’m not at all sure the Good Lord is ready to take her on full-time up in Heaven just yet-- I’m sure it is much easier to run that place without her bossing him about.” 

After that, it was an absolute whirlwind of activity for the next two hours. Jack went to 221b to alert the residents (and layabouts who seemed to always be there), to the situation. Mac got the lucky task of going to Mrs. Stanley to inform her of her niece’s condition. Immediately upon hearing the news, Prudence Stanley set to work making phone calls, writing letters and trying (apparently) to save Phryne’s life simply through favors and connections from influential people throughout the entire country-- and a few other countries as well. 

Mac asked later how Jane and Dot had taken the news, but he simply couldn’t remember-- he thought there had been some gasps and tears, but he honestly had no recollection of it-- nor of how he made it to his small bungalow after that to pack and meet Mac at the train station where she had procured two express tickets on the next train to Adelaide. He didn’t even know what he had thought to throw into his valise for his clothing and toiletries to get him through… well, however long he was away in Adelaide. Not that it mattered what he packed, how could he possibly stop and think of shirts and ties when she was lying half dead in some seedy and disgusting hospital operating room table, completely alone and totally helpless. He did remember grabbing the two books on his nightstand. He pulled one out, hoping to read to kill time but knowing there was no way he’d actually be able to concentrate. They had done all they could for the next 7 ½ hours until they reached Adelaide and Phryne. 

He opened his book, hoping to find some kind of distraction from thinking of her-- but then his eyes caught on his bookmark-- Phryne looking back at him,smiling and so full of life. It was one of her “mugshots” from their earliest case, when he had to arrest her in order to stop her from interfering and had teased Hugh horribly as she posed in outlandish and adorable ways. He saw her fingers encircled around her eyes like glasses, her lips slightly puckered as though for a kiss. She was so vivacious and beautiful, he remembered trying to hide a smile from her, trying hard to look the disapproving authority figure and end her interest in following him around on his cases. Thank God she was terrible at taking a hint!

He did not realize that his life had been so lonely and boring and sad for so long, not until she crashed in on it. For years he had been living a life of duty, no pleasure beyond the occasional football match or a new book to curl up with at night-- when he was home alone at his small and lifeless bungalow. Then Phryne came on the scene and insinuated herself in just about every crevice of his life and his heart. Now he had a bright world of vivid characters surrounding him, Dot and Jane and Dr. Mac, even Mr. Butler who kept him so well-fed and Mrs. Stanley who was at least never boring-- especially when she chose to spar with her stubborn and oh-so modern niece. 

He thumbed through the novel he had brought with him, but found himself unable to focus on anything-- the gunslingers and saloon girls of the American West just had no appeal right now. Mac was sitting across from him and trying to transcribe case notes, occasionally she tried to start a conversation with him, but he only sat there, staring out the window, focusing on nothing as the landscape flashed by them. After a while she pulled out a book, trying to read and busy herself-- she had finally gotten her hands on the latest novel banned for its “immoral discussion of the indecency of two women caught up in the sin of homosexuality and other unnatural urges and desires”. Jack saw the title and turned bright red all over. While he certainly understood that Dr. Macmillan had in fact had previous relationships with other women, it wasn’t exactly something that anyone, no matter how friendly they may have recently become, would ever discuss. As she tried to read, she began sipping the contents of a rather large brown flask, eyeing his reaction to her choice of reading material. 

“Honestly, Radclyffe Hall’s writing is a bit pushy for me, a little overly preachy and assertive about sapphism. And I’m terribly disappointed that the love scenes aren’t a bit more lurid… but I make it a point to track down as many banned books as possible, I like to encourage a little bit of civil disobedience and subversive thinking.” No, it really wasn’t so hard to see why she and Phryne were so incredibly close. She offered her flask to him and at first he declined.

“Come now, Inspector. I’m a doctor and I strongly recommend you take me up on this prescriptive offer-- or, if you’d prefer I could give you something to help you sleep. But honestly, you’re total lack of movement and conversation are incredibly distracting to me.” She smiled at him, offering the flask again, and this time he took it with a grateful grimace-- and then he proceeded to down about ⅓ of its contents in one swig. Moving to hand it back she shook her head, “No need, I always plan ahead in my travels. It is times like this that I am reminded not to be stingy.” And she removed from her satchel another, matching flask that sounded as though it was also full of her favorite whiskey. She uncapped it and held it up to him in a toast, "To Phryne, the woman who is far too stubborn to ever die from a plane crash-- it would feel too much like admitting we were right about her flying skills.” Jack had to crack a small smile at that, it did sound just like her. He went back to staring out the window for a while, beginning to feel a little warmth creep back into his blood, a little less despondent about the whole affair-- wouldn’t he know it, somewhere in his heart, if she were dead? He was sure that her spark being snuffed out of the world would have major consequences in the rotation and gravity of the Earth, it simply didn’t seem possible.

Mac had also had a bit to drink and while she understood how Jack could want silence to stew in his own fears, she felt the need to speak with someone, and who better than this man who was so clearly and completely in love with her best friend in the world? Who else was there that truly understood the wonders and frustrations of such a deep and dear friendship? Mac had two brothers and a sister and did not truly feel as connected to any of them as she did with Phryne Fisher-- maybe because with Phryne she was accepted so completely as herself, no masks or secrets because honesty and authenticity were the currency that Phryne valued the most. 

“You know, you aren’t at all the kind of man she normally goes about with.” 

“How’s that again?” What was he supposed to say to that. He downed another swig of whiskey, it was really helping ease the tightness that had been clutching at his heart and making it so that just the act of breathing required very real effort and thought. 

“Oh, you know, dashingly handsome, oh-so-modern playboys of limited vocabulary and use-- semi-cavemen, really. I suppose they’re generally charming enough for a few days, even a week or two, but they do become tiresome so quickly.”

“So is it my lack of dashing good looks or my insufficient charm that you believe she finds most appealing, Doctor?”

“Oh, don’t be such a woman about it-- you know what I mean, and it’s a compliment, which you know very well I don’t give out particularly freely. It is only that you are the first man I’ve ever seen who has actually turned _her_ head for a change. We’ve all spent the last year trying to figure out when you two were going to stop being so incredibly stupid and just figure out you’re both quite mad about each other.” In all fairness, he thought, he had made it very clear to her how he felt very early into that year-- the rest had been a dance as they tried to figure out what that meant for them. They had quite a few false starts, times when he was almost certain he saw in her eyes that she wanted him-- and then there was the question about on what terms they could be together. While Jack Robinson wasn’t necessarily an old-fashioned prig, neither was he like The Great Gatsby or some modern day Casanova, leaving strings of former lovers strewn about the 7 continents of the earth. He was a careful man, he was a gentleman, and quite a bit more romantic than just about anyone would ever know; for him love was no casual affair. 

“Did you ever-- no, never mind.” He started to ask but wasn’t actually sure he wanted to hear the answer to his question. 

“Oh come on, we have five more hours, at least, to waste, we may as well talk. What would you like to know?”

“You said that I’m the only man to ever turn her head. But I’m wondering, did you ever… did she ever introduce you to Monsieur DuBois?” He said the name like it was a particularly awful curse word. 

“No. I did not. And it’s probably very much for the best that I never did, for I don’t know what I would have been capable of doing to that man after seeing her… Did she ever tell you how we met?”

“No, I don’t actually believe I know that story, other than it was during the war-- she was a nurse in your hospital or your unit near the front, in France?” Jack helped himself to another generous swig of whiskey to help him prepare to hear a story he was sure he would not like. 

“She was an incredible nurse actually, I remember that many of the doctors were trying to steal her from our corps, she was very efficient and held herself together, calmly and methodically, no matter how much blood and gore she was confronted with. I won’t say that it wasn’t also thought that she was awfully pretty-- not that anyone cared much about that out there-- they would have rutted with a dog at that point in the war, most of the men. We became friendly working together, but nothing particularly close. Then there was an incident in which a very ignorant and particularly awful Lieutenant made some disgusting comments about me, surmising my interest in her was not nearly as platonic as I said. I was horrified, I really believed she would be scandalized and throw me over entirely, but she merely walked up to the man and suggested that maybe the world would have been a better place had his mother shared my inclinations and never produced him. It was actually quite stunning, I couldn’t believe that anyone would stick up for me quite that publicly or loudly-- I can’t say that anyone else ever has since either. 

“After the war I told her that I would be finishing med school in England, I knew she had family there and would love to see her again sometime-- she really did have a loyal friend in me for life at that point. Well, we exchanged a few letters, but I was busy trying to get through exams and she was traveling Europe, living a penniless bohemian lifestyle that was so a la mode after the war. Free love, live for the moment, carpe diem-- all of that rot. Then almost a year went by and I hadn’t heard from her, I didn’t really know where she was or what was going on, but I was so busy that I honestly didn’t think about it particularly often. Then one night, around 3 am, there was a frantic knocking at the door of my hideously worn down flat in the middle of the London slums-- even in London it was difficult to get steady residency work at a hospital for a woman, unless I was willing to tend to the vagrants, tramps and anyone else who had been relegated to inhumane residences and lifestyles. So I was living just outside of Whitechapel, in this Dickensian hellscape, and as I run to the door, sure it’s going to be the victims of some disgusting venereal disease or another back alley abortion gone terribly wrong and on the other side of the door is Phryne. 

“Phryne, Love! What are you doing here?” She stumbled in towards me, exhausted and filthy-- she was paler than I had ever seen her, except for the black eye and some rather troubling bruising about her neck, spaced just about like a large man’s fingers.” With that Jack shot up, his eyes almost popping out of his skull as he tried to picture it. 

“You mean, Renee DuBois… he tried to?”

“Are you sure you want to hear this? I can stop right now because, to be honest, I don’t like to think about it very often myself. But I don’t see her ever telling you herself, she doesn’t like to let people see her as a victim-- ever.” 

Jack closed his eyes, trying to get his composure back. He most definitely wanted to hear the rest of the story, and then he wanted to find a way to bring that horrible frog-eating bastard back from the dead simply to spend years inflicting heinous acts of torture on him for a very long time. He took another swig (were they running low on hooch? Did they sell any on the train, because he was worried he would need more if this story continued down the path it was on.) “No, please, tell me the rest. I’m afraid once you started the story, I wasn’t going to be alright until I heard the entire thing.”

“Well, she was in particularly bad shape and looked scared of her mind, crying and constantly looking over her shoulder, worrying he was going to be right there, following her. She had fled Paris with practically nothing, she apparently had to leave fast and on almost no notice. As I examined her I saw that she had quite a few bruises and cuts in places I was particularly appalled by, but will _not_ discuss with you. She had also at some point in the last year dealt with a disgusting spiral fracture in her arm,” Jack knew what that meant-- a spiral fracture was usually caused by someone twisting the limb so forcefully it broke-- one of the most common signs of abuse he was trained to look for. He found he was clenching and unclenching his fist, wishing desperately there was someone, anyone, he could take out his anger on at that moment. “We got her cleaned up and fed-- she had been living as an artist’s model for a while, which you can imagine involved quite a bit more absinthe and wine than actual food, so she was far too skinny for my liking. I treated her for everything I could find that was physically wrong with her and she slowly began to calm down and regain that quintessential “Phryne-ness” back. She reconnected with her parents around this time, I convinced her that they could do much more for her now to keep her safe and protected. As she settled back into things and established her social life, it all improved rapidly and she really was doing much better. At least, in general.”

“Meaning?”

“Well, not to get all philosophical, or worse, psychoanalytical, but it would be hard to ignore the fact that while she went back to being her generous and loyal self, constantly picking up pet causes and people and helping them through everything and anything-- establishing charities and grants, creating good works societies, adopting families and orphans (so to speak, until Jane I don’t think she’d actually ever kept any of the creatures) and she danced and drank and drove and flew and never turned down a challenge-- but she also closed off a huge part of herself. Once she had lost all of the physical reminders of that disgusting pig of a man, it was like she had put him and the memories in a little compartment and walled it in with lead and bricks. Unfortunately, she also walled off the part of her that would let her fall in love again. It is like men who came back from the war and can’t stand to hear gun shot ever again-- they cannot hunt or go to the theater, even a car backfiring can put them in a shell-shocked state.” 

“I simply can’t picture it. It is just so hard for me to reconcile the Miss Fisher that I have come to know over the last two years and imagine a woman who would ever let a man like that have any power over her. It just seems like you must be talking about a different person, it’s so obvious to me that she never could have been like that. And yet…”

“Inspector, if you ever figure out why so many brilliant and amazing women allow themselves to be dominated by disgusting brutes, I hope you’ll tell me. I’m sure Freud would say that it was because of her father, but I don’t know about that. From what I know, Henry Fisher, while a deeply flawed man and miserable father, does not take any pleasure in being cruel-- that would take too much thought before acting on his part. DuBois, however, that man shows a level of depravity and receives great pleasure in watching the suffering of one in his power. I don't know, for my money, I still suspect it has something to do with her sister.”

“Janey? How could it possibly?”

“As a soldier who returned home from the War, I’m guessing that you understand the idea of Survivor’s Guilt? When someone faces the loss of a loved one, while they themselves survive, they develop a guilt complex that can completely overwhelm their natural and reasoned responses to various aspects of their life-- they feel guilty for having survived, rather than that person.”

Jack understood that concept all too well. Coming home and seeing the widows and children left behind by the death of his fellows in arms, when he had come home to a quickly disintegrating marriage and no children… he had struggled with these emotions and feelings ever since his return to Melbourne. But that was war, in many cases, it was simply the luck of the draw-- if for a slight uptick in the breeze, any of those bullets could have hit him instead; any of the bayonets could have landed in his heart or head if not for the flapping of a butterfly’s wings. What had happened to Janey had been the work of a terrible madman chasing glory and legend and was happy to murder small girls to do so-- a man who did not even consider it to be sacrifice, as they were promised glory by his side for all eternity. They were the very willful and intentional acts of a lunatic. He sighed, wanting nothing more than to be holding her, comforting her, and spending every day between now and forever making her see exactly how wonderful she was, and that her life and well-being were so critical to so many people’s happiness. 

“So, Inspector, I believe it’s your turn now. I think I get to ask the next question of you.”

“How do you figure that, Dr. MacMillan?”

“It’s my whiskey.”

“Fair enough.” He finished his flask, lamenting the end of the supply. What would this woman, a very close friend of Phryne’s possibly be wanting to know? There was no way this would be a comfortable conversation. 

“Don’t worry Jack, I have a bottle to refill.” 

“You expected my company to be so awful?” She smirked right back at him, she really did think if Phryne was going to subject one man on the rest of them for the foreseeable future, this guy just might do. As he refilled the flask (he only spilled the tiniest bit-- it really was excellent stuff), she was eyeing him up and down, trying to figure out what she wanted to ask. He was pretty sure that this was going to be incredibly embarrassing for him, something about his sexual history or maybe a conversation about the various brothel raids he had participated in. Preparing for a sting, he was shocked at her question.

“What exactly are your intentions with Miss Fisher?” Considering what he was expecting, it may be strange that THAT question made him almost choke on his drink.

“Come again?” WHAT was he supposed to say to that?

“You heard me. You know who she is, you know what she is like. I’m not saying you’re a casual anything to her, I think we all know it wouldn’t even be a conversation on anyone’s radar if that were the case. We’ve all seen her struggle with the fact that she’s feeling something very different.” His heart picked up considerably at that-- is that really what’s been happening over the last year? 

“Is this an official interrogation? Are you going to read me my rights?”

“I suppose you can choose not to answer. But then I’ll confiscate your drink and we’ll be as dry as America in the car. Well, you will be, I’ll still have my bootlegged supply-- think of me as Canada.” Jack thought carefully about that one, to be honest his main plan of action for a while had been just getting her to give in and kiss him, admit there was something between them and be willing to give him a try. 

“I love her, Doctor. 

“Mac, please, Jack. This is a strangely intimate conversation to be having if we aren’t on a first name (or nickname) basis. And I know you love her. Its painfully obvious to the rest of us. If it helps, although I’m not entirely sure she even knows it yet, but she’s in love with you as well. But that wasn’t my question, I’m not curious how you feel, I’ve known that for a while. No, I’m curious what it is that you are hoping for? Phryne is Phryne, for good or bad. And I saw her in the aftermath of a relationship that tried to change her at her core and it was… As angry as I get about the abuse, as much as I would have happily removed that man’s testicles with my bare hands while he was fully conscious and then make him eat them, I sometimes am most upset at how much she changed when she was with him. It was never by her own volition or in the spirit of compromise-- it was to crush her spirit so he could own every part of her. And that’s what I’ll never be able to forgive him for.”

Jack winced at that comment, knowing Mac didn’t mean to hurt him or accuse him of anything, she was really just barely drunk enough to be that free and honest with him. And most likely, if Lord Fisher was anywhere nearby,or had a modicum of credibility as her father, he would be having this same conversation with the man at some point in the near future. Given the situation with her father, this was probably the more appropriate channel to express himself and get the blessing of a family member. 

“You’re a scientist-- have you read much by Charles Darwin?”

“Of course, he speaks to two of my interests: brilliant scientific thought and theories offensive to the easily offended.”

“I want to assure you that I love her because she is her-- it is her inimitable qualities: her brilliance and strength and bravery and warm heart, those are just as much a part of who she is as her free-spirit and stubbornness, her love of luxury and occasionally domineering attitude. I don’t know what kind of a future she and I could possibly have together and I’m fairly certain that I’m taking a major gamble and will likely end up a heartbroken and tormented sap. But I told her once that I would never want her to change who she is-- at least, not to change her or “tame” her. But change is a difficult concept to grasp sometimes, I believe. There are connotations, there are implications that she was not good enough before. But Darwin poses the idea that a being can constantly improve on itself, it can develop. Outside influences cause the organism to adapt and grow to become more efficient and complete and better suited to their situation. We don’t look at humans as being _less_ because they descend from apes-- it neither detracts nor adds to either species’ reputation or quality of life. Maybe one of us won’t or can’t change, maybe neither of us does. But maybe, and I don’t know if its possible, but maybe we both can grow together and adapt and evolve to being together and be what we need and want. I don’t know what that would look like, I honestly don’t. It could be marriage and a family, it could be some highly unorthodox but very modern and committed life together. The only thing I know is that she has given me everything and I am so ridiculously in love with her its almost driven me mad.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” Ignoring that, Jack continued, this wasn’t an easy conversation to have, even his less than completely sober state right now. He may as well finish this. 

“But I’ve decided that maybe it’s time I try and embrace not only the woman, but the spirit of the woman-- her joie de vivre. No one has ever made me think so much about living my life. Somehow, I came back from the War and was obsessed with the inevitability of death, it never made me feel like it was my duty to live the life I had to the absolute fullest, no matter how long or short it may be. So, for the time being, I have to admit that my only intention is to try and keep my hat on and enjoy the ride.”


	3. Perdition Catch My Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Mac in the hospital in Adelaide. How is Phryne doing?
> 
> "Perdition catch my soul but I do love thee! And when I love thee, chaos is come again." Othello

They arrived at St. Luke’s hospital at 8:30 that night to a steady downpour of rain. Despite the pounding rain, Jack simply threw money at the driver and leapt out of the cab with his bag in hand, to run inside. Thankfully Mac was right behind him, thrilled to finally, hopefully, be able to know what was going on and perhaps even be useful to Phryne.

“Dr. Elizabeth MacMillan. I’m here to see my patient, the Honorable Miss Phryne Fisher. I spoke earlier with Dr. Henderson I believe.”

A well-dressed and jolly looking man with white hair and large, bushy bear like Santa Claus stepped forward to Mac with his hand extended to greet her. “Ahh, Dr. MacMillan, of course! I am Dr. Henderson, we spoke earlier! My, you certainly made good time coming in from Melbourne. I trust your journey was nice?”

“Yes, thank you. Now, I don’t mean to be rude, but I will feel much better once I’ve been allowed to examine my patient and better assess her condition. What have you learned since we spoke earlier?”

“Of course, allow me to fill you in while we walk that way?” As they moved forward Jack caught the attention of the doctor. “And, may I ask who this is?”

“Oh, of course.” With everything they spoke about on the train, they had not even begun to consider what his “cover story” so to speak, was going to be. “This is Detective Inspector Jack Robinson with the Victoria Police. He is here… at the request of the family. It will be his job to investigate the plane and to ensure that it was no…”

“Not an act of sabotage or tampering, Doctor.” Jack stepped in to assist her-- who for an acquaintance of Phryne’s, was not a particularly adept liar. Of course he wouldn’t be permitted to see Phryne based on their ill-defined connection to each other-- it was unlikely St. Luke’s had a written policy concerning possible visitors who were “madly in love but had an ambiguously defined understanding.”

The two doctors were speaking and he wasn't really able to follow what was being said, Henderson and Mac were speaking medical jargon, not a language in which he was particularly fluent. He heard something about “intercostal ribs” and “pneumothorax” and then they spent a few moments on oxygen levels-- Jack had no idea if the number they mentioned was good or bad, not much of this made sense to him.

“How did surgery go?” Unable to wait much longer, he burst into the conversation.  
“Ah. Well, we actually weren’t able to perform surgery quite yet, we…” Jack looked at Mac, confrontingly.

“But you said that surgery was critical, they have to perform surgery to find the internal damage and repair it. Why haven’t they done that yet? They have to find it and fix it or…”

“Inspector!” Mac interrupted forcefully.

Henderson interjected there, “Unfortunately, it isn’t always quite that simple. Her injuries are… well, she was delayed in arriving to the hospital and in that delay, she lost quite a lot of blood while at the accident site. We need to wait for her blood pressure to pick up enough that its safe to operate. If we had operated when she first got her, she would have bled out with the first incision. We are giving her a transfusion and there are some medicines that increase the ability of heart to pump blood. She has been stable for a few hours now, although is still in critical condition. Nothing has gotten worse and we are almost to the point where we can operate. Inspector, we have given her excellent care, anyone on my staff is available to tell you the same in a formal statement, if necessary.”

“What?” Jack was busy trying to process what he had just heard and make sense out of it with his brain that barely passed high school biology. “Oh, yes, I’m sure I’ll be in touch as my investigation continues.” He trailed off as they arrived outside of her room.

It was a poorly lit room, but obviously the hospital’s nicest-- it only had one bed and there were curtains on the windows. It seemed that Mrs Stanley actually could pull strings from nearly 500 miles away. Phryne was there on the bed, so small and frail without her high heels or bright red lipstick and perfectly styled hair. She looked small and battered. Jack worried for a moment that he would be sick at the sight of her, but he found a way to stifle it as he entered. She had bruises all around her face, including a black eye and what looked like a broken nose, which according to Mac, suggested she had hit her head on the steering apparatus at some point.

She had blood all over-- dried, filthy blood. No one had found the time or felt the need to clean her beyond what was necessary. She was in a horrible, thin cotton beige gown with hideous purple flowers and he knew she would be mortified to be seen in it by anyone, even a doctor saving her life. There were stitches on the side of her face, right at the hairline, running approximately 1 ½ inches down her side, almost to her ear-- he reached out to trace them, tenderly, with his hand.

There were bruises and cuts all along her arms, and according to her chart, they were pretty much everywhere else on her. Mac came in beside him and was clearly taken aback by the appearance of her indomitable best friend in such a condition. There were tears in both their eyes as Mac squeezed her hand saying, “God! She would be so pissed to be in that dress!” They smiled wanly at each other and then Mac got to work.

She poked and prodded, she took temperatures, checked the pulse, looked at cuts and bruises and tried to catalog the broken bones. At one point she had to examine some delicate and less accessible, far more infinite areas of Phryne’s body and Jack found a way to occupy himself while she did so-- if there was ever going to be a time he’d see certain parts of this woman, it most certainly wouldn’t be under these conditions. While she was checking over Phryne, Jack was flipping through the preliminary accident report.

“Police called to scene with ambulance brigade #2417 after small bi-plane (one person in plane, aviatrix) had trouble with initial ascent. Upon inspection it appears there was a hairline fracture in tailfin which gave way and fell off-- causing plane to lose balance and fly into grouping of trees located approximately 1 km from takeoff point in private yard.

“Small child in yard at the time of crash. Suffered from smoke-inhalation but has been treated in hospital and released.  
Woman in plane refused transport by ambulance first responders. Called for ambulance to be given to small child and his mother first, she would follow in subsequent ambulance.

“Aviatrix initially responsive on scene, unconscious by the time the second ambulance arrived. Transferred to St Luke’s Hospital.

“**Update: Aviatrix believed to be the Honorable Miss Phryne Fisher, resident of St. Kilda’s, Melbourne, Victoria. Based on registration of the plane. Please contact Office of Williams and Sorenson in case of an emergency, please contact solicitor. Solicitor will contact: Dr. Elizabeth MacMillan, Mrs. Prudence Stanley, Detective Inspector Jack Robinson.

“***Update 2: No immediate evidence of criminal activity found in preliminary investigation. Family of private residence will not press charges if financially remunerated through airfield and/or municipality of Adelaide."

Jack was not particularly familiar with planes-- he had never been in one and generally found them to be nothing but dangerous. But despite his vague understanding of Bernoulli’s Principle and the ideas and drawings of daVinci. But from what he knew, she would have been somewhere between 500 and 1000 feet in the air when the tailfin broke off and she went into a downward spiral towards the trees of the backyard. Mac, who had worked in multiple emergency rooms in her career and seen horrific injuries over 10 years, but the sight of her best friend made her look for Jack’s hand and squeeze, needing comfort desperately.

This woman was going to give him a stroke. He had never felt so worried and scared in his entire life, while still being so incredibly angry at anyone. And that note about the child? She was lying there, very likely bleeding to death and she refused help until the child was looked after-- that was so very like her! How long had it taken to get a second ambulance to the scene? It was a small, rural town outside of Adelaide-- not a bustling metropolis. Maybe it was 20 minutes out? Between the deep cut in her head and the broken ribs that punctured everything around them, and then the large gash that was so close to her femoral artery that Jack almost passed out just thinking about what could have happened. How could he be so angry about the way in which this woman was more concerned over the child who breathed a bit of smoke while she had gaping and gushing wounds? He wasn't entirely sure, but he definitely was.

“Jack. Her blood pressure is very much improved from this afternoon. I think we will be able to take her in for surgery within the next hour or so. We should be able to repair the lung that was punctured and check for further damage-- but it is going to be a long night, I’m just warning you.” He nodded as she spoke, he was absolutely terrified that they hadn’t been able to do this earlier and now it may be too late.

Mac continued. “I don’t have privileges here at this hospital. I cannot in anyway participate in this surgery. But I do believe they will let me into the room to observe during the operation. I am asking you, do you want me to be in the room? Or do you want me to be out here with you?”

“I’m starting to feel as though you have little confidence in my manly bravery and fortitude.”

“Jack, I’m not sure who looks worse right now, you or her.”

“Well, Mac, I appreciate that-- but I want you to be with her. I don’t expect that I’m particularly good company right now anyways, you may as well be somewhere that you can help, if needed.”

“I’m going to go speak to the surgeon, I have a few things I’d like to discuss with him. Is there anything that you need that they can get you?”

“Just her, Doctor. Only her.” She put her hand on his shoulders as she left the room, a reminder that she and he were on the same page about that. She paused right before exiting the room. under the doorway-- “You know, there are studies to suggest that even when unconscious, they can hear when someone talks to them.”

As she left, the room was eerily quiet. He moved a chair closer to her bed, as close as he could get it to her bed, his feet were actually tucked under the feet of it. As he clasped his hands over hers, he was struck again by how wrong she looked. Miss Fisher is a being larger than life-- she was Aphrodite or Cleopatra. But now she had pale and bruised skin, tangled, dark hair; the absence of cherry red lipstick and the horrible cotton gown from the hospital that she wore while in the coarse sheets and pillows would make a woman of fashion like herself cringe. She should be surrounded by nothing but velvet, silk and a soft, feathery down-- this was simply all wrong.

Across the room he spied a basin of water and a nearby rag. He retrieved it and began, as carefully as possible, to wipe off as much of the dried blood and dirt and sap from her skin as he could, softly and delicately. He was surprised at how intimate this felt to him. She was most certainly in a bed and wearing as little clothing as was possible, but somehow this did not feel strange. It felt close and loving and special, but not at all wrong. Why shouldn’t he be the one to caress her, to wash her skin, to clean her mangled body-- he didn’t move any of her gown, he would never do that to her; he wouldn’t venture to any territory he had not previously seen. Although, if he were being honest, between the nude portrait from Sarcelle and the fan dance she performed at the gentleman’s club, was there anything he truly hadn’t seen?

He found himself chuckling a bit at the memories of those events. What other woman would choose to go undercover in an establishment such as that and then, not only take the time and experience to learn the dance, but then, within a day, perform it with such skill and panache that she instantly became the club’s most requested performer? There was a line he had recently read Jane from Othello that sprung to mind: “Perdition catch my soul, but I do love thee! And when I love thee, chaos is come again.”

It was almost as though The Moor had actually met Miss Fisher.


	4. Reprieved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surgery

“Poor bastard.” Dr. Mac was shaking her head as she left the Inspector in the room. She was glad to have him with her, it forced her to pretty much keep herself together-- she really needed to stay busy and calm to avoid thinking of Phryne Fisher. She didn’t want to worry the Inspector, but she was not particularly happy with some her stats. She had lost quite a bit of blood, which had been absolutely unnecessary and she would certainly beat the woman over the head about that one for years to come. That child on scene had been in no danger--it was bloody smoke inhalation! The fact that he was outside when it happened and barely coughing when the ambulance arrived, he had been in no danger whatsoever! If she ever came across the ambulance team who listened to the idiot woman with a large and gaping head wound rather than common sense and medical precedent… well, God help them all!

She rolled her eyes and sighed, leaving in search of the other doctor working on the case trying to arrange about the surgery. To be honest, even if Jack had asked her to stay with him during the procedure, she wasn’t sure what she would have done. However, she was awfully glad she wasn’t put in that position- he really was an awfully good guy, despite the fact that he was,in fact, male. “Phryne, I hope you get better and quickly-- I’m looking forward to watching this all play out.”

__________________________________  
She had been in surgery for five hours Jack counted while waiting outside for her. He kept alternating between pacing the length of the waiting area and sitting down with his torso hunched over and his eyes closed, thinking about her. Five hours of surgery couldn’t be a good thing. If she was having so much trouble with blood, then digging about in her innards for five hours couldn’t possibly be helping at this point! He stood again and re-started his pacing when he heard footsteps coming down the hall. He looked up as Mac came through the door. He was across the room to her in about three steps.

“Phryne, how is she?” Mac was shaken herself, “How is she doing, tell me!” Tears started to pour down Mac’s face and cheeks, but she was shaking her head and smiling. 

“Inspector, I can’t promise anything. But, in my personal opinion, I think she may just pull through this one.” The relief crashed across both of them and they stood there, quietly hugging in the middle of the hallway,smiling and feeling united over their mutual cause to keep this woman safe-- despite her continued attempts to the contrary. 

“Really?”

“I can’t say for sure, obviously. But the internal injuries were far less severe than I thought they would be. There were a few tears we had to repair that were bleeding through, but we were able to set the ribs and re-inflate the lung- although that’s going to be prone to infection with pneumonia for at least two months. We did have to remove her spleen, it was crushed in the wreck, but it’s a fairly useless organ anyways and she isn’t going to miss it; one of these days evolution will eliminate them in humans entirely, but it hasn’t happened yet. We did have a few moments of concern with her blood pressure, so I’m not going to lie to you and pretend everything is perfectly fine and we are out of the woods. But the surgeon was excellent and our biggest threats are really more related to possible infection from the procedures, rather than from the accident itself-- you should see her stitches, even Dot would be amazed at how tiny and even they are, it really was an excellent surgeon.” Jack swooped in to hug this brilliant red headed physician who just completely won him over for life-- anything she ever needed, he was going to make sure she got, she had just given him the best news he ever heard in his life. 

“When will she wake up so we can speak to her?”

“I can’t say for sure. They were medicating her pretty heavily when I left the room towards the end. She will be in a lot of pain for a pretty long while. I personally think we should all consider keeping her unconscious for the next few weeks. Its going to be about a month before the ribs heal enough to not be excruciating and I don’t see her taking well to that amount of time on strict bed rest while she heals-- and after that I’m going to make her use a cane for a bit, can you imagine how impossible she’s going to be about that? Drugging her unconscious for the next six weeks seems a much better option if you ask me.”

“Something tells me that between all of us involved, we can maybe find a way to keep her in check and heal. I don’t care if that means I have to put constables on duty in her bedroom around the clock, every day, just to make sure she behaves as ordered by her doctors.” 

“Men in uniform surrounding her all day in her bedroom? That doesn’t seem likely to lead to her resting all that much either.” Mac couldn’t help herself sometimes. Now that she had seen everything that happened in the accident and assessed every single inch of that woman, she was feeling much more positive and confident about the outcome, she could afford to tease the Inspector a bit.

“Can I see her now? Please?”

“She won’t be awake you know. I’d bet a lot of money that it’s at least 10 hours out before she is.” That did not seem to deter him in the least. She sighed, lovers can be so stubborn and stupid sometimes, “But I suppose you can go in and see her once she’s back in her room, they need to bathe her further and check some of her stats in the postoperation area. Maybe it would make more sense if you tried to sleep somewhere? You’ve had a pretty long 24 hours.”

“I’ll be fine, I don’t need to go anywhere. I want to be here, when she wakes up.”

“Inspector, I understand how you feel, truly. But there are no real rules for how this kind of thing goes. Even when she wakes up, she will be groggy and disoriented and likely won’t remember that she saw you in a few hours.”

“Doctor, I understand all of that, and I do appreciate it. But I really need to be here when she wakes up. I need her to know that I’m here. Even if she forgets it instantly, I need to see her eyes and hear her voice…” Jack’s voice caught-- there were too many terrible thoughts to try and follow and he needed to block them out as much as possible. 

“Well then, Inspector. I’ll see if I can find someone to rustle you up a pillow and extra blanket.”


	5. Courage To Make Love Known

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who could refrain, That had a heart to love, and in that heart Courage to make love known? -MacBeth
> 
> In which Phryne and Jack find the courage to make love known. 
> 
> Of course its fluffy sap, but isn't that the best stuff?

______________________________  
There was fire and there were screams surrounding her, jumping at her, licking the ceiling and the room. Then there was a child crying and coughing and she felt like she was falling, over and over again and she couldn’t stop falling a long distance. Every time she was about to hit the ground, Phryne was back in the air, falling and falling all over again, from an even greater height- over and over and over again.

________________________________  
Jack was asleep in his chair, next to the bed, his feet propped up on another chair directly in front of him while his hat was tipped over his eyes to allow him to sleep in such a brightly lit room. He was wearing only his shirtsleeves and slacks, his jacket, vest and tie had been discarded over the back of his chair and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. At some point a nurse had walked by and tucked a blanket around him to try and keep him a bit warmer. There had been a long conversation at the nurses station throughout the day’s shifts-- the dashing Detective Inspector who was so romantically dedicated to this woman’s bedside.  
“He came in from Melbourne the same day! He dropped everything there and rushed to her bedside-- she must be the luckiest woman in the world!”

“I hear she’s very rich, some kind of lady… sounds like he knows what side his toast is buttered on.”

“Constance, how can you say that? He’s clearly incredibly upset! I swear to you, I walked past the room an hour or so ago and he was holding her hands and whispering to her in her sleep-- stroking the cut on her face.”

“Well, we’ll see what happens if she doesn’t heal completely. He may like her now when she’s all young and pretty, but then her scars won’t heal or she’ll be in a chair all the time and he’ll be off onto the next pretty thing to turn his head.”

“Just because your man left you doesn’t mean that there are no good men out there! I think his devotion to her is beautiful. I’m going to go see if he needs anything, it can’t be comfortable here, like that.”  
______________________________  
There was a low, soft moan-- it was very quiet, and somehow it made Jack instantly alert and sit up straight in the chair. 

“Miss Fisher?” He reached for hand, bent over her face, searching for signs of life and recognition… signs of Phryne. It took a few moments for him to realize that he had been holding his breath as he searched her, both of her hands cupped in his. Slowly, inexorably, she fluttered her eyelashes open. For the first time in 55 days, he was seeing her beautiful, sparkling, gray-blue eyes looking back at him. He felt the slightest pressure against his grip and he felt a raspy whisper brush against his neck and ear. 

“Yes Miss Fisher. I’m here. I’m right here with you.”

“Jack? Its you.”

“Of course it’s me. I’m right here.”

“Oh. It’s all right then.” And again he thought she was trying to squeeze his hands as she sighed softly, contentedly, a slight smile on her face and she murmured low, “mmmm”, pulling his hands up to rest on her cheek as she was pulled back under. At least this time, she had much more pleasant thoughts and dreams to accompany her. 

Three more times Phryne woke in similar ways over the next 18 hours-- and Jack was there, holding her hand in his each for each of the three times. In the last 36 hours he may have managed about 10 full hours of sleep on the most godawful institutional chair ever manufactured. Thankfully, he had long ago learned how to handle long nights on the job; he was a master of sleeping when and where he had the opportunity. But once she seemed stable and on the mend, he finally gave in to Mac’s lectures and pointed remarks and retired to a cot in the room doctor’s used when they were on call for long shifts and needed to sleep. Mac had been sleeping there on and off, neither of them had felt bold enough to go to a hotel and risk Phryne waking up without them there-- or worse, there being a complication, some problem, and they were snug in comfortable beds while she suffered. In fact, now that she was doing better, perhaps Jack needed to start thinking about finding a hotel to stay in until she was well enough to begin the trip home to Melbourne. 

He managed to get a full six hours of sleep and felt like a new man; it may have been the most sleep he’d gotten since she left for England in that stupid, flimsy plane of hers. He rose, changed his shirt and ran a comb through his hair, but didn’t bother with anything else, he needed to go see her and then he could worry about trying to find a place to shave and bathe. 

When he got to her room, she was awake and propped up on the bed-- more beautiful than he remembered. She was wearing a very simple but far more fashionable silky nightdress and robe, her hair had been brushed so it was glossy and without the tangles and gnarls of the day before. Apparently Mac had gotten out to do a small amount of shopping for her friend, knowing that the depressing ensemble of the last few days was unlikely to help Phryne’s mood or pain. 

She was still much paler than her usual complexion, and the bruises were in a bright and distinctively purple phase. She hadn’t bothered to put any lipstick on today and he realized how rarely he had seen her without her signature glossy, cherry red lips. The tube they had used to repair the collapsed lung had been removed from her chest and he could see a thick mound of bandaging sticking out above her neckline, he had to wonder what kind of a scar that was likely to leave. It didn’t matter to him, but he was concerned for how she would handle it-- she was not a vapid woman or overly vain, but he would be able to understand if she was upset over a scar right between her two seemingly perfectly formed breasts. 

“Jack!” Was he wrong, or did her entire face light up when she saw him? Mac had been checking her vitals over the last few minutes and seemed to be encouraged by them as she actually cracked a smile at Phryne’s apparent eagerness to see the man who, in her mind, desperately needed a change of non-rumpled clothes and an actual shower. 

“Miss Fisher. You are looking particularly well, I’m so relieved.” How is a man supposed to greet the woman who has so completely captured his heart and soul, but has never actually voiced it before? In this situation in which he had so obviously tried to show it, but never had the chance to truly just say how he feels. It all seemed a bit strange, but it was hard to feel disappointed by the look in her eyes-- so full of affection and interest… and life-- how could he care about anything other than the fact that she was alive?

Dr. MacMillan, feeling a bit like a third wheel, decided to excuse herself and consult with one of Phryne’s doctors about how soon they may be able to try and move her home to Melbourne, and where Mac could stay in the meantime-- while the cot had been a perfectly adequate option while Phryne seemed to hover between life and death, it didn’t seem likely she was going to continue that med school torture device any longer than she felt necessary. And she sincerely hoped the Inspector wasn’t quite so besotted that he would idiotically refuse some actual rest for the remainder of their stay in Adelaide-- there was a fine line between love and affection and concern… and an inability to dress and bathe yourself out of a co-dependent nature. 

Jack stood next to her bed, seeing the bags under her eyes, the cuts and bruises. She tried to smile at him a bit, show that she was just fine, but the muscles in her face were a bit sore and she grimaced almost as much she smiled. Seeing any pain in her face made him take in his breath suddenly, “Phryne, are you alright? Are you in pain? What can I do, should I get a doctor?”

“Jack, please.” She grabbed his hand, trying to reassure him, her voice a bit raspy from the tubes she’d had in her throat and the medications she had constantly pulsing through her body right now. “I’m perfectly fine. I just… I just want to take a moment, while we’re alone and talk. Please, sit.” Jack went to sit next to her, but refused to let go of her hand as he did so, eyeing her, concerned that she may be hiding some kind of terrible pain. 

“You’re sure you are ok? You look particularly…”

She moved her hand to her hair and then the scar area of her face quickly, concerned. “Particularly what? Jack, do I look strange? Is the cut on my face that bad?” She looked concerned as she traced the stitches on her forehead, suddenly terrified by how it may look, would Jack be repulsed? Was she some kind of a Frankenstein that he wouldn’t be able to look at anymore? Before the tears that threatened her eyes became noticeable, Jack moved his hand to her face, smoothing her hair back.

“You look absolutely beautiful. I’ve never seen anything so lovely as you, lying there, staring back at me, your eyes lit up with life. I am just…” he tried to hold back tears in his eyes as well. “I couldn’t imagine anything more beautiful in my entire life.” His relief at having her still in his world, still on this earth, was absolutely indescribable, she was here, in front of him, what else could possibly matter?

“Jack… I am so sorry for all of this, for all of your trouble. I just...” Again, she broke off. What medications could she possibly be taking that would make her nearly this emotional? He didn’t think he had ever seen her so vulnerable.

“Jack, I shouldn’t have taken off that day. I don’t know, there was such a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach, but I was so anxious to be home. And the weather was particularly fair and lovely, not a cloud in the sky-- I actually went through a brief moment where I feared the sun burning my skin! But I did my pre-flight walk and inspection and I swear, I didn’t for a second see anything wrong. I’m still not entirely sure what happened, but I remember that right after I took off there was a strange sound, like metal ripping apart, and then before I knew it I was off-balance and spiraling out of control and then… the tree and I was hoping to climb down, but then I think something struck me… I don’t remember much after that. But I promise you that I wasn’t doing anything at all reckless or crazy or anything. I was just so concerned to coming home to you and to Dot and to Jane… I just wanted to be home, maybe I missed something? Was I not as thorough as I should have been? I still can’t understand what happened or where I went wrong…”

She was beginning to spin out of control, so emotional and tears in her eyes… it wasn’t anything like his fearless Phryne, who he wished would be more careful and worry about these things… but he didn’t want her to be afraid, or constantly blame herself for something that, through the last two days he had ascertained from the investigation of the plane crash it was as much of a freak accident as could possibly happen. It had been a hairline fracture of the tailfin that snapped when the pressure in the air and speed had caused too much stress on the fracture, causing it to snap. Apparently this kind of accident was far more common than he would ever be comfortable with if she continued to fly. 

He put his hand to her face again, softly stroking her cheek, “Shhh, shh, Phryne. Don’t, stop. No one, not for one second is anyone is angry with you. Of course, you did give all of us more than a bit of a scare-- you easily took ten years off my life.” While he was trying to crack a smile at her, put her at ease, she did see the concern, the fear in his lovely brown eyes. "But it was absolutely nothing you did wrong. There was a hairline fracture in the tailfin, apparently this still happens sometimes with planes-- it can withstand a certain amount of stress just fine and you won't notice it, but then it will simply hit a breaking point. I've reviewed the notes the officers and their engineer took about the accident and you bear absolutely no blame." Whether she would ever be up in a plane again was a different conversation for another time-- he was sure that would be a more tense conversation.

She seemed somewhat relieved, it was nice to know that this was not something she had done so wrong and would be thrown back at her as being completely reckless. She still felt terrible guilt over having put everyone through this, and of course she was concerned about some of the scars she may have incurred from the accident, but she would get over that, she wasn't quite that vain. She noticed one lock of hair, loosely dangling over his eye. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you so unkempt, Inspector. I have to admit that your handsome features are in no way diminished by your lack of a shave. Its very rugged and masculine.” She lifted her hand up to his face, wanting to smooth away the wrinkles created by the concerned frown he wore on his face. Her touch sent a jolt up and down his spine and he felt his pulse pick up a beat. She looked worn and tired and in pain, but she was still alive and her eyes were dancing with mischief. “It does seem such a shame that I’m here in my pyjamas and this lovely bed and you’re so much more formally attired. I finally have you this close to my bed and…”

He cleared his throat as he pulled her hand from his face, giving her a light, passing kiss on each of the fingers, then the palm of her hand and the inside of the wrist. “Phryne, Phryne. What would I ever do without you?” She again began to tear up as his thick voice caught in the back of his throat.

“But Jack, you don’t need to worry about that-- I am here, after all. I’m a bit banged up and worse for the wear, but I can promise you that I have no immediate plans to make you have to figure that out.” She felt a slight hitch in her breath as she realized what she had put him through, the last few days he must have been out of his mind with worry for her. She was unused to feeling responsible for the feelings of a man, she generally tried very hard to avoid such complicated entanglements with feelings and emotions and worry. But, she also knew that Jack was different-- he did truly care for her in a way that she had not looked for and had actually tried to fight for quite a while. She knew if she entered into any kind of relationship with the man, it would be something significant, something different-- something that was far more traditional and terrifying to her. It was one of the reasons why she had taken so much time to finally invite him to come after her-- it was her signal that she was willing to try, that while she was terrified of the consequences or of breaking his heart and hers at the same time, she had actually become more terrified of losing him entirely. 

Now she had made him feel the same fear-- that he may have lost her entirely. She could imagine what that must feel like, she could picture how Jack would have taken the news, how he had flown to her side in record timing. As she thought about it further, she became more upset, her tears spilling over as she tried to imagine what he had been through and how he had only ever been so wonderful to her, but she had constantly kept him at bay. She could be such a stubborn woman-- one relationship ten years ago with a horrible psychopathic narcissist had somehow convinced her that she should never engage in anything serious like it again. Really, how ignorant and silly could she possibly be sometimes? To imagine that there was any similarity between Rene and Jack was like thinking that a panda bear and a shark had any common characteristics! She began to cry, not something she did very often, but she was still terribly tired and heavily medicated and felt so queer and emotional!

“Phryne! What is the matter, are you in pain? Should I get the doctor? Or perhaps you need some water? Or more pain medication?” He began to panic and stood to move and get a doctor when she reached out to stop him.

“Jack, no, its not that at all. Please, don’t leave. I’m sorry, its only that…” She tried to make the tears stop, tried to pull herself together. For God’s sake, how was it possible that she was falling apart this way? “Its only that I can’t help thinking how I would have felt had our positions been reversed. How horrible it would have been to go through what you have gone through, how the very possibility of losing you would devastate me. How certain I am that I don’t know how to do this, how to be in a relationship, how to make this work and make sure you are happy while I still feel like myself. But I have to tell you, that I am absolutely certain that I love you, Jack Robinson. I love you and there are times it just seems impossible how much you love me, for all of my faults and the fact that I’m nothing but worry and complication to you… and I want you to know, that no matter what happens, whatever may happen between us, I love you.”


	6. What Fools These Mortals Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One more bump in the road to true happiness, but I promise you that the good stuff is on its ways. 
> 
> In the meantime, they are in love and we get to hear each of them say it. And then Mac gets to weigh in, which is something I always enjoy- she's that friend that every person needs, who is simultaneously disgusted with how cute you are, and happy that you are so happy.

What was a man to say at all this? Could it be true? Well, maybe it didn’t matter if it was true-- with all that he had been through this week,he refused to play games any longer with his own heart-- or hers. 

“I love you, Phryne. You exploded into my life and disrupted it in every way I could never have imagined and it has been the most amazing two years I have ever experienced. I don’t know what will happen with us either, but I know that I am so madly in love with you I can’t think sometimes about anything else.” 

“But for the moment, the only thing that matters is making sure you are entirely well and whole and can return to driving me and the entire Victorian Constabulary absolutely insane, as quickly as possible.” He smiled at her, gazing into her eyes, as she clearly tried to fight sleep, her lids heavy, trying to stay open, with little success. 

He leaned over to kiss her forehead,to assure her if she were to get some rest,he would still be there when she woke. As his lips touched her forehead, he realized it was burning up. Masked by the tears and the strong emotional reaction she had just experienced, he hadn’t noticed the beads of sweat or the rosy spots on her cheeks. 

“Phryne? Are you sure that you feel quite right? You seem a bit…” At this point she was having trouble focusing her eyes on him-- or, if he was correct, on anything. 

“Perfectly fine, Jack. Just a bit sleepy after all, I’m sure a quick cat nap and I”ll be right as rain.” She sighed and began drifting off to sleep. She could hear some concern in his voice, but was simply exhausted. 

“Doctor! Doctor!” He started shouting, but didn’t want to worry her too much. He begrudgingly dropped her hand and hurried out the door to the nurses’ station. “Please, help, we need a physician in room 212, immediately. Is Dr. MacMillan available? She has been working with Miss Fisher. Please, can someone find her? Fast!

Then it was a whirlwind of activity in the hall, he was pushed up against the wall as some of the nurses rushed past him. Only a moment later, Dr. Mac went running past them, with a few nurses trying to keep up. She entered Phryne’s room and began assessing her situation-- taking her pulse and checking her temperature--her pulse was racing and her fever had spiked to 104 degrees. Jack didn’t understand, not at all- how was it possible that she could so suddenly and completely become so sick?

Finally, after what felt like days, and most likely only been 30 minutes, Mac finally came to speak with him. Her face was shadowed by concern again, much like when they had arrived two days ago to see her condition. 

“Jack. You really should go get some actual sleep-- not on a cot in a closet somewhere, its time you go to a hotel, take a shower, shave, put on clothes that have been pressed-- you look like hell.”

“Thanks so much, Doctor, your opinion has been noted. But I think you know me well enough at this point to know that is just not an option right now. Now please, tell me what the hell is happening? I don’t understand, she seemed to be doing so well!”

She breathed in, exhaling as she tried to explain. “Jack, I told you- she seemed out of the woods in terms of her injuries, but I told you she was still in danger of infection setting in, and they can come on very quickly. It looks like she’s developed an infection in the site of the incision from her surgery.The good news is that it doesn’t seem to have infected her blood at this point, which would almost certainly be fatal.” 

Jack lost his breath for a moment, he couldn’t determine his center of gravity, what was keeping him tethered to the world right now? Remember, he said to himself, Inspector, the good news is that it isn’t in the blood-- take joy in that brief reprieve. 

“What can we do?”

“Well, we have cleaned the wound again and administered some antibiotics that should help treat the source. In the meantime, I’m concerned about her fever and they’re giving her a topical ice bath to try and bring it down. Remember, a fever isn’t necessarily a bad thing, it means that her body is going in overdrive to fight the infection-- they don’t live well when its that hot in the body. But I’m going to be watching it very closely, taking her temperature every 20 minutes, changing her wound dressing more frequently and checking a few other things. You’re going to hate me right now, but I can’t have you in there for a bit-- she’ll be in all manners of undress and I just don’t think…” She trailed off in his head as he realized that not only was Phryne very ill, but he couldn’t be there with her. 

“I’ll make you a deal Inspector. Give me two hours. Go check into the hotel down the road and take a shower and change, I had a very obliging nurse get each of us a room; she was so very happy to help the lovesick Inspector, he’s ever so handsome and romantic, I’m sure. They also have a few extra rooms I’ve had put aside, I think it may be time we contact Mrs. Stanley and Dot and Jane to have them come here… I don’t want to overly worry them, OR you, but perhaps its time they have the chance to come and see her.” She pushed him out the door of the building with his satchel in hand, he wasn’t even sure how she had so deftly moved him towards the door so that he hadn’t really even noticed. 

“There you go Jack, its the one down the road about two blocks-- the Grand. Its not particularly luxurious, but its clean and its very nearby. I promise you that nothing is going to happen in the next two hours that you need to be here for.”

“But Mac.” He just looked at her, so much fear in written through every single feature of his face. Just when he’d finally been able to tell her… to hear her say to him… and now… 

“Jack, I promise you that I can do my job even better if I don’t have to worry that you’re going to collapse from exhaustion yourself. And quite frankly, you know you can’t do anything and sometimes, the best thing you can do for yourself is a stiff drink and a bath. Maybe a nap in an actual bed. I will call you, I swear on my best scotch, I will call you if anything changes.” And with that she squeezed his shoulder and left him, outside for the first time in two days, the sun bright and warm and making his eyes burn. He breathed in and picked up his bag from the sidewalk next to him, moving towards the hotel she had just pointed out. 

As he checked in and was shown to his room (Mac was right, it was perfectly neat and clean and the bed did look rather irresistible at this point), he tried to figure out what to do. He felt like he was walking about in a trance, unsure how he was moving or speaking to the clerk at the desk or the attendant to his room, but he was going about the process automatically, without feeling as though he was there. As he showered and shaved, he couldn’t stop thinking about what had just happened-- in the last hour things had gone from fine, to amazing, to more desperate than he’d ever felt. He was reeling from it all. 

She had said she loved him. Had she meant it? Of course he understood how exhausted she was, and that the heavy medications she had been given must be having a particularly big impact on her-- he had once had to have his appendix taken out and remembered what the effects of the anesthesia and medications had been like. And then there was the fever, he had heard people referred to as out of their mind with fever, was it possible that was what happened here? He found himself pulling off his shirt and trousers, it was time to sleep and he wasn’t at all sure he had remembered pyjamas when he frantically threw a few drawers worth of things into his bag. He had finally caught up a tiny bit on sleep, but one more hour couldn’t hurt and maybe he would be able to think more clearly and process everything once he’d caught 40 winks. As he closed his eyes and was pulled into sleep, all he could see was a set of beautiful gray-green eyes, and he heard a familiar throaty voice declaring, rather firmly, “But I have to tell you, that I am absolutely certain that I love you, Jack Robinson.”

Approximately 3 hours later, Jack was awakened by a particularly forceful knock on his door. He jumped out of bed, worried it boded ill for Phryne. As he ripped open the door, completely forgetting he was only in an undershirt and his smalls, he saw it was Mac. 

“Is it Phryne, is she alright?”

“Well, hello to you too Jack. I hope you slept well. Yes, it has been a rough day, but I would love to come in and sit for a moment. That is, so long as I don’t also have to remove the bulk of my clothing to do so…” She looked away, trying not to actually burst out laughing as Jack realized how little he was wearing in the presence of a woman with whom he was friendly, but certainly not on intimate terms with.

“My apologies… I’m sorry, I suppose I was in such a heavy sleep when you came by…” he was rushing about the room, frantically trying to find his trousers at least, pulling them on as he stood, almost falling down as he tripped over the first leg. 

“Jack, please, try and remember that not only am I a physician who has seen far more than anything on display at the moment; but I’m also not particularly interested in any aspect of your… packaging, so to speak.”

Jack looked up as he finished zipping his pants, realization dawning on him that, no… he did not suppose she would be at all scandalized in him in his smalls… nor remotely tantalized by the view either. He grinned a bit, realizing what a complete idiot he was being and slowly moved to his bag, looking for a shirt that was actually clean and relatively unwrinkled, pulling it on as he sat on the edge of the bed.

“Of course, Mac, my apologies, again. I suppose I was just still half asleep when you arrived. But I am awake now, what can I do for you?”

“You sir, can accompany me to the nearest restaurant with a bar and have dinner with me. Before you ask, Phryne is doing much better, the second round of antibiotics seem to be helping, her fever was reduced to 101 before I left and I believe will continue to fall. She’s still not feeling well, mind you, but she’s absolutely fine for now and I may or may not have given her a very light dose of something to help her sleep another 12 hours while she continues to feel uncomfortable and fight the infection off. In the meantime, I absolutely refuse to eat another meal on a tray with a meat substance I can’t actually identify under the gray gravy-like topping. I have heard there is a rather decent tavern of sorts a few blocks down and I think we could both use the unscheduled R&R.”

“She is just fine, you promise?”

“Cross my heart and all Inspector. Now, would you like to join me for a bite or was it your plan to simply spend another ten hours straight starving yourself while watching her sleep?”

Honestly, it probably would have been his plan to do the latter, but he realized he was actually very hungry and that if Mac was feeling so positive, he should probably take a page out of her book and try to let Phryne sleep. And, it occurred to him, this woman had done a great deal more than he had over the last three days, the very least he could do was buy her a large steak and share some whiskey with her in gratitude. 

“May I have ten minutes to get ready and then meet you in the lobby downstairs?”

“Of course, I wouldn’t mind changing my top myself. I”ll see you downstairs.”

About an hour later they were seated in a particularly comfortable booth in the nearby tavern, they had each been able to get excellent steaks, and were on their 3rd whiskey. Jack had come to not only respect this woman in front of him, but he was genuinely starting to think of her as a good friend… after all, she was part of Phryne’s rag-tag family, and he realized that he had begun thinking of her more like a sister on this trip. It wasn’t strange, or bad, it was actually quite comforting to him. Not to mention, she seemed to be the steadiest person he knew around Phryne Fisher-- maybe she could help him survive his time with that maddening woman he was so in love with. Thinking of her, of her admission earlier he felt warmth creeping up his torso and face, hoping that he wasn’t blushing.

“Oh good lord, what now? What did Phryne do or say today?”

“I’m sorry?”

“No, I’m sorry-- that I’m surrounded by two blubbering lovers who are so incredibly besotted with each other and disgustingly adorable. If I didn’t have a great deal of fondness for her, and you are actually growing on me, I’d probably have vomited all over this table right now.” She said it with a smile in her eye, so Jack knew that she was joking, mostly. “Lord, what fools these mortals be!”

“Has it been so very long since you were last in love, Mac? I’m sure that with how things ended between you and your Daisy, it hasn’t been easy. But surely there must be hope for all so tragically thwarted in love.”

She arched her brow, surprised. While he was a good enough fellow and seemed to be fairly non-perturbed by her admitted sapphic tendencies, despite the fact that it was not merely unconventional, but very illegal. And yet, somehow, he was not at all concerned with her proclivities, he didn’t want to keep it completely out of bounds-- it seemed that he was 1) more liberally minded than expected-- something that boded well for anyone attempting to be with Phryne; but also 2) that he was willing to overlook his duty to the law and accept her as she is-- whether it was for her sake or Phryne’s, it was still fairly telling about the man’s true character. 

“Leave it to someone in love to believe that everyone should be.” He grinned a bit, hadn’t he recently accused Collins of similar and somewhat obnoxious comments?

“So, has she told you yet?”

“Told me what?” He thought he knew, but he wasn’t sure how gentlemanly it would be to disclose any details of the conversation.

“She did, didn’t she? Phryne Fisher actually said the three magic words, am I right?”

He blushed slightly, nodding. “Today. I know it could have been the medication and the fever, and maybe it didn’t quite mean the same to her that it meant to me, but…” Taking another sip of her whiskey, she waved his protestations away, 

“Jack, she was certainly a bit stoned on the medications and her fever was a little high…. but it certainly wasn’t so high her brain was actually boiling and making her hallucinate and spout utter madness. At worst, the most one could attribute to her condition would be a lowering of inhibitions that allowed her to say something that would have been harder to say in normal circumstances. But you and I both know her inhibitions are rarely up, much less need to be lowered somehow.”

It was hard not to breathe a sigh of relief on hearing confirmation from her that it was sincere, genuine. He had been almost certain, but the idea of presuming seemed wrong somehow. He had no intention of taking anything he said back-- if she wasn’t quite ready to say she loved him, if she had said it too early for her comfort, he would never remind her it happened, but he refused to pretend he hadn’t said it, because he had said it and meant it. If truth were told, he felt as though he should have said it so long ago, and he almost had, but he hadn’t quite. He truly believed she knew it, but he hadn’t been quite ready to just tell her. Now that he had, now that he knew, without a doubt how he felt and had no desire to pretend anything otherwise, ever again.

“You know that I am in love with her, Mac. I honestly have no idea what that means. I know that she has no interest in anything traditional-- she probably won’t ever settle in with any man, wish to get married or anything else people say that they want-- Hell, go for anything that I always thought that I wanted, before. But I have come to realize that all I truly wanted was to be in love and have that woman love me-- love the person that I was and the people we would become. That never happened with Rosie, she only wanted to be the people we were when we married. Did I plan to have children with her? Absolutely. Would that have salvaged our marriage? Absolutely not-- not in a meaningful way, we may have had them, and would have loved them, but merely tolerated each other.”

“Nothing can fix a relationship other than the people in it-- if they aren’t enough for each other, then nothing possibly could be. It is strange, I’ve seen couples, treated couples, who could not conceive. Some are destroyed by it-- it doesn’t matter the reason they cannot conceive, it always ends up ruining everything they ever had. But some couples, they would have loved to have children- they are the people we all wish to be raised by… and it won’t happen, ever, but that, in the face of their relationship, can’t be considered as great a loss. Do not mistake me, Jack. If the couple does not know their mind going in, there may be no hope that they are happy.”

“But, if the rest is only details, then the fact that we love each other should be something we can work can out.”

“Exactly, Inspector. So long as you are happy together, why worry so much about the rest? I’ve always told Phryne that there is a difference between someone being an anchor who drags you down and someone who grounds the floating balloon-- without that grounding it wouldn’t be able to return anywhere after it’s explorations and journey- it won’t know where to go.”


	7. Too Wise To Woo Peaceably

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably.” Much Ado About Nothing 
> 
> Jack and Phryne are heading back to Melbourne on a very long train ride, and she isn't allowed to do anything but sit there, read, talk or sleep. Does that sound like she's going to behave?
> 
> By now, you may have caught on that I'm a Shakespeare fan, its something I'd like to think that Jack and I would bond over (among many other things). Also, I'm finally getting impatient to get these two together, so buckle up over the next few chapters, I think we're all about to have some more fun. :)

Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably.” Much Ado About Nothing 

Five days later, Phryne was, blessedly, on a train back to Melbourne with Jack and Dr. Mac. Originally the plan had been to borrow one of those beds that ambulances managed to strap down somehow, for the train ride; but it turned out that wasn’t necessary. After extensive negotiations with Mac, the patient had promised to behave herself and remain resting during the entire 7 ½ hour trip, seated, doing absolutely nothing. She was allowed to read, to write letters, to speak, to eat, and to sleep. Perhaps that explained her childish and cranky behavior. While Dr. Mac had decided she needed some air, code for whiskey and getting away from the two particularly disgusting lovebirds, Jack was on Phryne-Watch, making sure she stayed resting and not up and in search of trouble.   
Phryne sighed again, it was an exceptionally pointed sigh, she was obviously trying to provoke him as he attempted to read. 

“Yes, MIss Fisher? Is there something which you require? I’m not sure what it could possibly be-- you ate lunch recently, you have a full cup of strong, but terrible tea in front of you and at least three books that are on the list of officially banned periodicals that, as an officer of the law, I should confiscate immediately.”

Phryne was so tired of sitting there, trying to read, again! She’d been doing this or sleeping almost from the moment she arrived at the hospital and not even D H Lawrence’s latest novel (how had she managed to get that in from Florence, Jack wondered) or 1001 Arabian Nights could entertain her right now. “Perhaps you should confiscate the Lawrence, have you read it yet? I can vouch for its scandalous content, but also for its vast potential as an educational tool.” He raised one eyebrow, ignoring her attempt to draw him in. He went back to his reading, only slightly annoyed, and a tiny bit intrigued.Of course he had heard of the latest scandalous book out of Europe-- to avoid the censors all over the world it had been published at a very small press in Italy and, he understood, was close to a best-selling novel BECAUSE it had been banned absolutely everywhere. He heard stories of women smuggling it in under their clothing, in false-bottomed suitcases-- it was like bootlegged liquor in America! For his part, he was trying to read out of his Complete Works of Shakespeare, since he had finished the other novel he had brought with him. He was trying to make his way through Richard III again, Jane had said they would be studying the Histories this term and he thought maybe if he refreshed his memory on it, he could assist her with her studies. 

“Well, what are you reading, Inspector?”

“Richard III.”

“Hmm, I don’t believe I’ve read that one. Would I like it, do you think?”

“Well, it is a gripping recounting of the Wars of the Roses, towards the end of them really. Richard is the Duke of Gloucester and deformed with a severe hunchback, he is lonely and without a love or family to speak of, and he maliciously attempts to steal the English crown through a series of intense political machinations and the murder of a long list of possible challenges to his rule over the next 14 years or so.” Phryne made a pained face, it apparently didn’t sound palatable to her. Frankly, it wasn’t particularly his cup of tea, but he had found that helping Jane discover an interest and excitement in some of his other favorite plays by the Bard, had been, well, fun! He had always a slightly avuncular sort of interest in the young lady, since helping to push through Phryne’s fostering of her, protecting her against Foyle and her own mother… but there was something about actually passing along his love of something to a new generation, exploring it with the excitement and curiosity of the first time. While he didn’t necessarily love this particular play (or most of the Histories for that matter), he did love spending the time with Jane and looking through some of their better lines and speeches. 

Not to be out maneuvered with his lack of cooperation in entertaining her, she continued on. 

“You know, Inspector, I understand that I promised I would rest and sit during the journey, which I think you will agree that I am doing so right now, quite faithfully living up to my end of the bargain. But it occurs to me that we have this entire compartment to ourselves for a bit, and there is plenty of space right here next to me. You don’t really have to be sitting all the way over there-- I promise you that if you sat next to me, I won’t bite… unless asked.” Jack almost choked on his tea. Was she seriously proposing that they… well,that they participate in ANY kind of amorous activity, right there? With her still injured and fragile, on a moving train, with the possibility of Mac’s return at any moment? 

“Phryne!” He was absolutely exasperated with her right now, this was starting to feel curiously like having a child. 

“Don’t act so scandalized Jack, I’m not suggesting that you throw me on the floor and ravish me endlessly until we reach Melbourne-- even I don’t think I could fully appreciate the experience in my current condition. But does that mean that you couldn’t come sit next to me? Maybe even let me lean against you? Or even, and I know this is particularly shameless, but perhaps you could even allow me to give you a kiss or two?” She looked so sweet and virtuous right now, and he had to admit that absolutely nothing in the world sounded quite so wonderful to him as to have her right next to him, feel her heart beating and her breathing against him, reassure himself that she was still very much in working order. He stood and pivoted the few feet in between them (all the way over there, indeed) switching seats to sit next to her, putting his arm around her as she snuggled in against his chest-- breathing in the scent of his soap and the soft knit of his sweater. Before he settled back in with his book, he asked;

“Are you sure you’re quite comfortable? This isn’t putting any undue stress on your injuries or anything is it? You will tell me if it starts to hurt?”

“Jack, really, I know you don’t believe me, but I actually am feeling quite well; a bit sore, but Mac has been giving me just enough for the pain that I actually feel quite lovely at the moment.” She smiled up at him, trying to reassure him that she was not going to break if he breathed the wrong way. 

Lord this woman was so beautiful! Even with the scratches and the fading green tinges of the bruises across her body, she was absolutely the most stunning woman he had ever seen in his life. He reached one hand out to stroke her cheek, tenderly running his fingers across the softest porcelain he could ever have imagined, thrilled with the warmth of her skin, the way her breath hitched in when she felt his caress. 

“You know, Jack, I believe I have a complaint to lodge against you. I have heard nothing but rave reviews of your performance capabilities from Jane, Dot-- even Aunt P! Apparently your talents with Shakespeare are remarkable. What sort of injury would I have to have in order to get similar attentions as Jane did from a bump on the head?”

“Well, I’m not sure we are comparing apples to apples here-- in the case of Jane, my nursing techniques were very different from any ministrations I’d be prepared to offer you, after all.” He leaned in, breathing warmly against her skin, tracing her lips with his finger, enjoying the sight of her breathing in and closing her eyes, her beautiful, full lashes softly closing and re-opening, not unlike a butterfly’s wings flapping. “However, in this circumstance, if it would make you behave and rest, I suppose I could be convinced to read to you; especially as many of your suggestions for alternative entertainment aren’t actually options at the moment, under our present circumstances.”

She made a particularly delicious looking pout that made his heart skip a beat and his trousers feel a bit tight-- all he wanted to do was bite that bottom lip, the way it was sticking out was so enticing. ‘Focus Jack… not now, not here.’ he had to keep telling himself. Clearing his throat and looking away briefly, he asked: 

“So, Miss Fisher, do you have something for me to read to you?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say no to hearing you read a bit of my book. It really is beautifully written and so romantic-- look at this passage right here!” His eyebrow was raised, not at all sure he should believe her. Unsure what to do, he looked to where she indicated on the page. 

“His body was urgent against her, and she didn't have the heart anymore to fight...She saw his eyes, tense and brilliant, fierce, not loving. But her will had left her. A strange weight was on her limbs. She was giving way. She was giving up...she had to lie down there under the boughs of the tree, like an animal, while he waited, standing there in his shirt and breeches, watching her with haunted eyes...He too had bared the front part of his body and she felt his naked flesh against her as he came into her. For a moment he was still inside her, turgid there and quivering. Then as he began to move, in the sudden helpless orgasm, there awoke in her new strange thrills rippling inside her. Rippling, rippling, rippling, like a flapping overlapping of soft flames, soft as feathers, running to points of brilliance, exquisite and melting her all molten inside. It was like bells rippling up and up to a culmination. She lay unconscious of the wild little cries she uttered at the last. But it was over too soon, too soon, and she could no longer force her own conclusion with her own activity. This was different, different. She could do nothing. She could no longer harden and grip for her own satisfaction upon him. She could only wait, wait and moan in spirit and she felt him withdrawing, withdrawing and contracting, coming to the terrible moment when he would slip out of her and be gone.” 

He looked from the page to her face, her eyes were dancing with merriment, all her energy was currently going towards trying not to laugh at the look on his face-- but it was far too hysterical for her to withstand and she finally burst out laughing. Peals of laughter resounded against the space, she was laughing so hard she thought she would cry! His deep pink blush, how wide his eyes had popped open… She actually started to worry should pop a stitch!

For Jack’s part, he was in shock. It wasn’t as though he was a blushing school boy-- he certainly didn’t think of himself as an innocent-- my God, he had gone to war, IN FRANCE! He had, in his time with the police, raided brothels, enforced customs embargoes on indecent materials and flat-out pornographic pictures, busted criminals in all manner of positions and places and engaging in all kinds of activities that, frankly, didn’t always make sense to him. But no matter any of those things, none of them had ever been so explicit in THIS way. To speak of those things… a woman losing control and allowing herself to be taken under a tree…. his turgid member quivering inside of her…. her ‘sudden, helpless orgasm’.... a description of what that may feel like? And that she could read the book, in front of him, in such a matter-of-fact way, right there, not eight feet away from him! For the author to focus on the woman and what she was experiencing…. 

Obviously, he was going to have to revisit that arena of thought at some point in the future… when he wasn’t cuddled up right next to her, holding her, breathing in her scent and desperately trying NOT to lose control and have his way with her right in the middle of the train compartment. 

“Miss Fisher, I’m not sure that was fair of you to do that when I’m working so hard to be nice to you.”

She was still laughing-- almost gulping the laughter down. “I’m so sorry-- I really didn’t think you would read it-- and the look on your face was so priceless!” She was about to collapse into her fit of laughing, it literally hurt her wounds to laugh so hard! She looked up at him and he was so happy to see her so full of life and happy, so like Phryne! Without thinking he grabbed her and pulled her to him and pressed his lips to hers so desperately that she was caught breathless for an entirely different reason. Suddenly there was nothing to laugh about, nothing that she wanted to focus on more than the way that his lips felt against her, the way that his tongue felt against her lips, her tongue, the way it explored her mouth. Then, just as suddenly, he pulled away from her. He gazed into her eyes and in his low, soft voice he seductively whispered,

“You may call me old fashioned, Miss Fisher, but there are many things I would much prefer to experience, rather than read about. However, since, as we have already established, none of that is currently an option for me, perhaps we should find something else to read that won’t get either of us quite so… anxious to ruin all the excellent medical care you so recently received.” How was a girl supposed to argue with that? She sat there, silent, merely nodding at him. At that moment she desperately wanted to risk ruining her treatments to that point, but knew she couldn’t. 

Smiling, in disbelief that he had actually won an argument, he moved to pick up his well-read copy of The Bard, thumbing through, trying to determine which stories may appeal to this woman. 

“Ah, here we go, I believe I know what play you would like.” He turned to one he had always loved. While he had to admit that he had generally been attracted to the tragedies more so than romantic comedies, somehow this one had always stuck with him. He opened the page to “Much Ado About Nothing”; the story of Benedick, the seemingly curmudgeonly old bachelor and the development of the deep romance between him and Beatrice-- possibly modeled on Phryne Fisher, the more he thought about it. 

He began, in his deep, baritone voice, quietly enough that he could read to her while she rested against his shoulder, eyes closed, completely overwhelmed by the obvious love this man had for her. As he read to her he would skip to his favorite scenes and passages, filling her in on essential plot lines and background as needed. 

From the beginning, when they met Benedict and Beatrice and learned that “... They never meet but there is a skirmish of wit between them…” When her uncle professes his wish for her someday to be married, she protests, “Not until God makes men of some other metal than earth. Would it not grieve a woman to be overmastered with a pierce of valiant dust? To make an account of her life to a clod of a wayward marl?” Phryne had to laugh at that one, it sounded awfully reasonable to her.

Then, once the two are tricked into realizing that they really are in love with each other, and who would be better suited to one another than they? At first, he thinks, “I do much wonder that one man, seeing how much another man is a fool when he dedicates his behaviors to love, will, after he hath laughed at such follies in others, become the argument of his own scorn by falling in love!” They struggle, each of them, as they come to realize how deep their feelings are. But they are very much in love, and uniquely suited to each other. As she understands her feelings, she only prays, “Let me be that I am and seek not to alter me!” Wasn’t that almost exactly what Jack had said to her once, that he would never want her to change, to be anyone different, only herself?

Then Benedick, trying to accept his feelings for Beatrice, but finding her maddening to actually be with shouts, “Suffer love! A good epithet! I do suffer love indeed, for I love thee against my will!” Although Jack refused to say so, he wouldn’t even admit it to himself generally, it was true that, in the beginning, he had loved her against his will. She was amazing and frustrating and he had never expected to fall for her in the least, he thought he would prefer someone more docile and nurturing and traditional-- falling for her had seemed to be a recipe for heartbreak and exasperation. But, it had happened, and while he wasn’t at all mad or upset that it had, it was not what he had expected or planned for. 

Finally, Beatrice admitted to Benedick, “I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest.” Finally ending the cycle, Benedick reminds her that they will always fight, always spar, because, after all, “Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably…” Jack looked down at Phryne as the speech came to an end. This part he had memorized and spoke with perfect pitch, diction and feeling while looking into her soft, adoring eyes, “I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes.” He pulled her in as close as she could possibly be to him at the moment, kissing the top of her head and breathing her in, reveling in her being there with him right now. She closed her eyes, trying to focus on the moment and how happy she was, how perfect it was. After a few moments she spoke, 

“Did I ever say thank you, Jack?”

“For what?”

“For coming to my side the way you did. And for then refusing to leave it as well. I’m sure it wasn’t easy to arrange for the time away from work or anything, of course you had other obligations, things to concern yourself with…” He stopped her and firmly, hungrily putting his mouth on hers, in a kiss meant to express to her that thanks were completely unnecessary, it had been not only his pleasure, but the only possible action he could have ever taken. 

She agreeably stopped trying to speak and threw herself into meeting his lips, his tongue. She felt a delicious shiver go up her spine and wrapped her arms behind his neck. Where on earth had he learned to kiss like this? His tongue was delicately but powerfully exploring her mouth, his hands cradling her head, touching her face as he began nibbling his way along her jawline, up to her ear. Once he arrived at her ear, he began sucking on the lobe, savoring it with his tongue, his teeth, his lips… She moaned,completely forgetting herself, “Ooooh, Jack…mmmm.” Was it possible he wasn’t exactly the good boy he had led her to believe all this time?


	8. Witchcraft In Your Lips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You have witchcraft in your lips” Henry V
> 
> Sexy/smutty times.  
> First time I've written so explicitly/extensively in the smut arena, so your comments are greatly appreciated to help me improve!

“Inspector! I hope that you had a pleasant first full day back at work!” Phryne stood there in her parlour, Jack in his suit and tie (was that a new one? It really picked up the glints of gold in his eyes, she liked it quite a bit), having stopped in that evening after his first day back at work. In his hands he carried an enormous bouquet of brightly colored asiatic lilies, a bottle of true, French champagne (he refused to think about how much of his paycheck the bottle had cost) and a small package wrapped in brown paper with a bright red ribbon. She was wearing a simple blouse and skirt, it was the first time he had seen her in anything other than sleepwear or robes since she left and it was refreshing to see her with her signature red lipstick, long pearl beads and dramatic colors.

“Mostly I was just trying to play catch up, Miss Fisher. I hope that it’s alright with you that I just showed up; I probably should have called first, or asked, but…” Using the best tool in her belt, she was able to stop him by firmly planting her lips on his, her arms snaking around his neck in a very telling embrace. He relaxed into the kiss, feeling her tongue flick playfully against his bottom lip, then his top lip before finding its way inside his mouth-- sometimes he thought he could kiss this woman forever.

As she broke away from the kiss, reluctantly, she spoke to reassure him.

“Jack, I promise you, you will never be unwelcome in this house. I would have hoped that you knew that by now, even without such a beautiful offering of flowers, champagne and other presents!” They went into the parlour as she called for Mr. B to bring out a bucket of ice to chill this bottle of sparkling-- she looked at the bottle briefly and noticed that it was not a vintage to trifle with, what exactly did Jack have in his head tonight? Since she had returned to Wardlow, he certainly hadn’t been distant, but he hadn’t exactly been forward either. Mac had told Phryne that it was very important she keep moving and stretch and such, she couldn’t overly baby her injuries. She had been behaving mostly normal-- well, normal for someone considerably less active in dangerous and/or amorous pursuits than she was. No matter how much she may have tried to move things along between her and Jack, he was absolutely unbending on her adhering to Mac’s rules to the letter-- rules that had included very explicit directions against all forms of coupling. How many encounters that left her completely breathless and unforgivably aroused could she possibly make it through without losing her mind? Especially when he came in with such well-cut suits, that rakishly perched hat on his head and his earthy, masculine smell that was simply Jack.

But it had been a week since they had both returned to Melbourne. He had spent a good deal of that time since coming back not only with her, watching over her in an extremely protective manner. Even when surrounded by Dot, Mrs. Stanley and Jane he would hover, insist that she rest and wince every single time she moved wrong and looked to be in pain. Unfortunately, he had also spent time over the last few days testifying in Sanderson’s trial, which was expected to continue at least another week and had him somewhat emotionally drained, but he refused to burden Phryne with any of that.

“Would you like to stay for dinner? Mr. B has been cooking up a storm all day and I fear we will have far too much food left over. I would dearly love to share the meal with someone, so I don’t feel quite so selfish.”

“If you are certain that there is enough for me.”

“I insist that you stay, I believe we are having a roast beef-- it seems he and Dot read somewhere that the iron in beef is good for me, recovering from my injuries, so I’ve been eating some form or other of beef, venison or lamb since I returned. But if I am correct, it is a favorite of yours as well. Oh, and there is a potato gratin as well, so I suppose it’s possible they have just been willing you to my side from their spots in the kitchen.” He wanted to interject that the food was absolutely unnecessary to bring him over to her, but he was beginning to smell the meal and found his mouth watering for Mr. B’s impeccable cooking.

After dinner, Jack went to pour each of them a nightcap of her best cognac. Somehow, although he had been in this situation a million times before, this all felt awkward to him. After all, he had told her that he loved her, she said she loved him, they had kissed a blessed many times, but he was always so hesitant to try and move it beyond that stage.

Taking the proffered glass, she moved closer on the chaise, moving to kiss him, pushing her tongue into his mouth, lowering her hands so that they would caress his chest, his waist, his firm, solid but soft shoulders, under his soft Oxford styled shirt. She went to loosen his new golden tie and undo the top button of his shirt. “Jack, I simply can’t help but think that you are attractively, but somewhat annoyingly, over-dressed.”

He removed her arms from around his neck and his torso, standing up and trying to collect himself in the face of this bewitching woman attempting to undress him in her parlour.

“Phryne, stop, please. This is absolutely not how I pictured any of this going.” He had been planning on spending some time wooing her, not simply nursing her. He thought that their first time would involve waltzing, champagne, oysters. There would be music and conversation and a very soft bed involved.

“Really, Jack? How, specifically, did you imagine this going then?” He knew she was teasing, but he wasn’t, not at all.

“Phryne! I had an entire night planned for your return! I made reservations weeks in advance at the Windsor’s restaurant, I paid extra to have the band play “Let’s Misbehave”. I ordered a special bottle of champagne that I know you would have loved. If it was going to happen, you would at least know that I’m very serious, I don’t take any of this particularly lightly!”

She wanted to shoot back that she didn’t take this lightly, of course she didn’t-- if she had, she would have seduced him months ago and moved on. She was very clearly taking this very seriously. But she was also struck by how much attention and thought he had paid to their special evening out. Waltzing, the song “Let’s Misbehave”, champagne… it did sound like a perfect evening with Jack, never let it be said he was inattentive or not a romantic.

It suddenly struck her-- he had gone to so much trouble for her, and she had ruined it all. With her pigheaded scheme to fly her father to England, rather than try and send word to her mother about the actually legitimate reasons for her father’s delay in returning home, and then putting her father on the next steamer out, she had decided to fly 18,000 km with him. Then, even more idiotic was her decision to fly herself home, alone. And then the plane crash, the time in the hospital, the way that Jack had rushed to her side and stayed there at great expense to himself. And then tonight, all he really wanted to do was check on her and she was acting like a spoiled brat because he wouldn’t do exactly what she wanted, exactly when she said. And that's when she began crying; no, not crying, sobbing.

“Phryne! Phryne, what is the matter? I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you or yell at you…”

“No, Jack it isn’t that, no it isn’t you. YOU, actually, are quite wonderful, and frankly, far better than I could ever deserve. I’m such a spoiled, selfish person with no regard for anyone else or concern for your feelings and you had so many wonderful plans in place and I went and ruined them all with my accident and I just… I’m sorry. I know I’m coming off quite unbalanced at the moment, Mac has been trying to wean me off all the pain medication and I think I’m just…” He pulled her into his chest, trying to soothe her as he stroked his hands through her hair.

“Shh, shhhh, Phryne. You are a great deal too hard on yourself. You are neither selfish nor spoiled, and while you can be a tad headstrong, it is one of the things about you that I love the most. You ruined nothing, do you hear me? How could I ever say that you ruined anything when I’m so lucky to have you at all. I don’t think I could ever tell you how devastated I was when Mac came to tell me about your accident; or how terrified I was for you while you were in that damned hospital? The very fact that you are here, with me, that you are still in perfect working order-- there is nothing in the world that compares.”

“Well then,” she sniffed a bit, trying to calm down-- she knew very well she was NOT one of those girls who looked at all lovely when crying. “But, then, why don’t you want to come to bed with me?” She looked so beautiful right now, so vulnerable and sad and rejected. Did she really believe that he was only interested in her for sex?

“Oh Christ, Phryne, do you honestly think I don’t want to? Set aside the fact that I have wanted THAT for even longer than I realized I loved you, or before I turned down Concetta’s proposal or…”

“Concetta’s what?” What exactly had Jack Robinson just said to her?

Jack stepped back, in complete disbelief that he had just said that. _Dammit Robinson, do you really have no ability to think before you speak when you are around this woman?_

“Well, that may be a bit strong of a term. I mean, it isn’t exactly as though she outright suggested a wedding, three children and a pup; besides, when I went back to speak with her about it…”

“You went back? You were considering it? You were thinking of marrying her? Was this before or after our case?” Her mind was reeling. Of course Concetta Fabrizzi had wanted Jack, any even remotely warm-blooded woman would want the noble Inspector who was quite a dashing figure-- very easy to look at, to speak to, to kiss. The better question for her to ask was probably why it bothered her so much? It wasn’t as though she had been entirely circumspect about certain dalliances-- Captain Compton, that handsome Italian cook...

He sat back down on the chaise, grabbing her hands, looking into her eyes. “Phryne, what can I possibly say in this situation? What do you want to know? Was I in love with Concetta Fabrizzi? Of course I wasn’t! I was so completely and hopelessly drowning in my feelings for you that I couldn’t figure out if I was coming or going most days. But it isn’t exactly as though I knew what to do about these feelings-- every time I felt we were breaking new ground or getting on the same page, something happened-- your father, the magicians, the RAAF. And when she suggested that she would leave her family to be with me and… You have always been so clear on not being the marrying type or wanting anything conventional, and while I would rather be with you than anyone else, well, yes, I paused for a moment.”

“But she knew, she knew that night that she would only ever be a distant second to you. I was too far gone at that point, too irrevocably and completely in love with you that it would never be fair to her.” He sat down again, next to her, gripping her face in between his two palms, tilting her head up to him, looking her directly in the eyes- there could be no confusion or misunderstanding in what he intended to say next. “Because there could never be another for me than you, Miss Fisher. And I will be grateful to her for the rest of my life; she made me realize how pointless it was to resist, that surrendering to the madness that is being in love with you was absolutely the only way for me to find any peace or happiness.” And with that he pulled her into a kiss, a new kind of kiss. This was not a kiss of tenderness or adoration. This was a kiss of need, of passion, of a desire that had been so long repressed they both felt it pulling them under and they gave way. As he cradled her head in his hand, she pulled her legs up onto the chaise, drawing herself up to sit on his lap.

He moved from her mouth to the spot on her neck, directly under her ear that he found to be particularly successful at evoking a reaction from her. He slowly grazed his lips, and maybe a bit of his tongue, softly against her fairly swan-like neck (so creamy and pale, yet soft, and long), all the way down the side, right down to her clavicle-- he had definite plans to explore that spot in the center of it, that perfectly shaped and very defined dip. As soon as he arrived at his destination and launched a thorough investigation of the spot, she began to moan, softly, with a rasping voice, “Jaaaaaaack”.

If historians were ever asked to look back at the history of him and Miss Fisher, this would be the moment they would identify as the point of his undoing.

“Phryne… would you… would you care to retire upstairs?” The whisper of his voice along her skin, so deliciously close to her breasts, then back up to her lips…

“Oh, Jack, that may be the best thing you ever said to me.” She stood up quickly, pulling him up with her, anxious to get him to her room, and her bed. As he followed her he was trying very hard to make himself see reason, worried that neither of them was truly ready for this step-- her physically, him emotionally-- unfortunately, none of that was actually resonating with him, it wasn’t making any difference or deterring him from this course.

As they entered her room, he looked at her bed, realizing it must have only recently been moved back upstairs for her-- was it possible that had been advance of their planned date the next evening? He actually thought about asking her, but this time, it was her turn to explore his neck, which she chose to do very thoroughly just now-- causing him to utter a sound that came out somewhere between a low moan and a growl, and as she approached his earlobe, choosing to alternate between sucking on it and toying with it between her teeth, he was entirely done thinking about anything but her and other things that mouth could do.

He moved towards her bed, bringing her along, and began to push the strap of her top off her shoulder so that he could further his exploratory actions into, as yet, uncharted territories. While she had a blush-colored silken camisole underneath the dress, it was such a similar color to her own skin that he could almost imagine her completely naked which only encouraged him to continue-- it had been so long since his most recent adventures in anyone’s bedroom, other than his own.

For her part, Phryne was finding herself almost unable to concentrate on relieving Jack from a few items of clothing-- while he looked particularly handsome in his three-piece suits, they could be dashedly inconvenient when she was looking for no layers between her skin and his. But Jack’s skill with his tongue, against her neck, her shoulders (it was almost a pattern, nibble, nibble. nibble, bite… nibble, nibble, bite, nibble, bite, kiss) had her putting far too much of her energy towards staying vertical as her knees were somewhat wobbly beneath her.

As soon as she had him liberated from his jacket, his vest and his shirtsleeves-- just down to the undershirt, she was tried to move on to his belt buckle, her fingers trembling a bit with excitement. When they reached the bed and she felt herself being, caught up in his arms before lowering her to the mattress, gently and tenderly, guiding her just as though he were leading her in a dance. She moved to finish the job of undressing herself, but stopped to admire the view of him, above her, in his thin, cambric undershirt, absent of sleeves to make sure his shoulders were shown off particularly well. As she recovered her wits and moved to finish removing her own undergarments, he grabbed her hand to stop her.

“Please, Miss Fisher, allow me.” He slowly lowered the straps of her camisole off her shoulders, baring her perfectly formed and sized breasts-- ripe as peaches, and as he was almost immediately able to ascertain, nearly as soft and delicious. His lips were soft against her skin, his tongue was firm but playful against the tiny, delicate nipples that found in the center. He flicked one with his tongue, holding it lightly between his teeth, but darting the velvet of his mouth to ultimately envelope the entire breast in his mouth-- sucking, nibbling and blowing on them with his breath as the mood struck. Her initial gasp quickly changed to moans as he continued explore and discover just how many different sounds he could elicit from this woman.

As the moans became deeper, louder, greater, he continued to push her underthings down and off. Her matching pink knickers, separate from the camisole, falling to a pool of liquid-like silk at the foot of her bed. He stopped caressing her breasts for a moment so he could sit back and admire the view before him. Her creamy complexion continued throughout her torso and the dark curls at the apex of her legs were well-trimmed, giving him a view of the entirety of this stunning woman. He continued his discovery of her with his mouth, kissing and nibbling his way down the length of her body,only stopping once he arrived at that soft, delicately scented spot he had dreamt of for the last year.

She was warm in his mouth, tasting lightly of mineral and salt, her folds were soft and moist-- very moist actually. Her body was almost begging for him to let off with his tongue and join with her-- but he was completely certain that he would never be able to last long enough to make it pleasurable for her-- it had simply been too long for him, and she was too beautiful and warm and wet… and his.

Her breathing began to pick up, faster and a bit sharper in the intake as he honed in on the exact point of pleasure for her-- his tongue thrusting and licking, he was both sucking and kissing her parts at the same time. As he felt her breathing beginning to change, she began speaking as well, he doubled down, making sure to keep his mouth to her, his tongue moving, and then he moaned into her, allowing his words to vibrate against her, “Ooh, Phryne. You are the best thing I’ve ever tasted.” That seemed to put her over the edge.

She felt it all building up inside of her, that tingling, powerful riptide that made her gasp and contort and cry out, “Oh good God, Jack, yes, Jack… Oh fuuuuuck…” and she collapsed on herself, shuddering at the intensity of her climax. Jack looked up from her curls, seeking confirmation that she was satisfied, reveling in the look in her eyes-- almost drunk with pleasure. He slowly kissed his way back up her body, wanting to feel her mouth against his again.

“Phyrne….” he whispered as she met his lips, in a haze of satisfaction and excitement-- if that was the opening act, she knew she was in for one hell of a night. She almost melted as he kissed her, her hands roaming and trying to find the zipper on his pants-- she wanted her turn to drink in the sight of his body, in its entirety, to taste him and enjoy him and give him some enjoyment as well. She hooked her leg around his waist, causing him to breathe a bit faster. Using her prowess in martial arts, she flipped him onto his back, surprising him, but not in an unwelcome manner. Straddling him, she was able to take her time, take in the view as she removed his undershirt, running her hands along the trim contours of his body. He had a slight tan, obviously he spent time in the sun-- was it from working out? Or perhaps his gardening hobby? No matter what, it also had him in particularly trim shape-- muscles finely toned, but not overbearing.

She bent over to roll her lips along his torso. She found herself intoxicated by his smell, his touch, his innate ability to be Jack Robinson, and to love her like no man had ever loved her before. As she removed his trousers and undergarments for him, she was treated to a particularly hard and alert cock, very well-sized and, it seemed, desperate to make the acquaintance of her mouth. She could have sworn that she felt Jack move, as though to stop her, but after the lovely treatment she had just received, she felt honor-bound to return the favor.

Jack had experienced a limited amount of fellatio in his life-- a few forbidden moments as a young man, before Rosie and the war; and then after the war, Rosie had tried a few times; but none of those times were at all like this. Phryne was an expert, that was certain (and not something Jack wanted to think about), but there was an energy, a delight that she had in the way that she licked and sucked and soothed… he had no idea that this was sensation was possible, and he really didn’t know how he would last beyond a minute of this-- and he was so desperate to feel her from the inside.

“Phryne. Phryne… Miss Fisher, please!” That finally got her attention, made her pause in her attentions to him. After a few minutes of her mouth, he had no idea how to keep himself in check, God, how long had it been since he last felt another person’s warmth or any kind of wetness around him? “Phryne, you don’t have to… I just mean that its been some time and I’m…”

She looked up at him, only inches from his deliciousness, her eyebrows arched, her gaze continuing to be full of tender passion. “Jack, please. That doesn’t matter in the least to me, we have the entire night in which to enjoy each other… this is merely a prelude to the rest.” With that, she returned to her position and continued to enjoy taking Jack in her mouth, with her tongue and lips and teeth, even occasionally her hands and breasts, willing for him to allow for release and experience a sensation similar to what she had just had.

His breath picked up, his heartbeat picked up, his body began to tremble slightly. “Phryne. Oh God.” This felt incredible, how was this sensation possible? It was somehow tender, passionate and he was almost concerned that this would literally kill him, this feeling, this consumption… “God, Phryne! Oh GOD!” Just as he didn’t think he could enjoy this anymore, or survive this anymore, he felt his body begin to signal his release was imminent. She took his words as a challenge, she wasn’t planning to extend his pleasure like that, she was much more focused on him enjoying it, thoroughly. Her suction became a bit stronger, her hands much firmer, her tongue more frantic across him; his hips began to buck against her mouth, his hands unsure whether to hold her head down or stop what she was doing so he could avoid climaxing in her mouth… something he had never done in his life. He moved to pull her away, but she simply looked up at him, her eyes ablaze with desire and the knowledge that she was giving him a very special kind of pleasure.

“Jack… Please, don’t worry about me. Just lie back and allow for me to give you something to ALWAYS remember me by.” While he couldn’t imagine any scenario that would allow him to ever forget her, any thought to that question was unthinkable as he finally allowed himself to come, inside her mouth, seeing stars and flashes of white light and hearing buzzing sounds in the background. As he finished, she moved her way up his body, wanting to hold him, to affectionately show him how she felt. She snuggled in next to him, but, surprisingly, he pulled her mouth to his in a passionate kiss-- not something many men were willing to do after she did what she just did; she let out a very happy sigh as she cuddled into him, this man really was something special.


End file.
